


Assassin's Creed Rogue: The Novel

by LadySokolov



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Diary/Journal, F/M, Gen, I make my own novel, Novelization, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: Stay my blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Assassin brotherhood.These are the tenants of the Creed; the principles I used to live by. I was a damned fool.I was a young man then. The Seven Years War was about to begin. I could not have imagined what the future had in store for me, nor the cost I would choose to bear.My name is Shay Patrick Cormac. This is my story.





	1. 16th July 1757

**Author's Note:**

> Considering Ubisoft and Bowden are probably never going to give us a Rogue novel, I thought I'd give it a shot and post the first chapter in time for Shay Patrick's Day. :D I've tried to mimic the style of the canon novels to a certain extent, and I have tried to be as accurate to both history and what we know of the characters as I possibly can, but if you spot anything off then please let me know. I will hopefully be updating this every Friday.
> 
> I think that's everything. Please enjoy my take on Shay's story.

**Journal of Shay Patrick Cormac, Captain of the Privateer Ship Morrigan**

**16 th July 1757**

I’ve been staring at a blank page for the better part of an hour. Truth is I’ve never been one for writing things down, but the Colonel suggested it might be a good way for me to organise my thoughts, and I am inclined to agree with him.

I also feel that it is necessary for there to be some sort of record of my life. There are parts of my past that my comrades do not know about, parts that I am not particularly proud of. Perhaps when they read this journal they will come to understand why I chose the path that I did. To any Templar who might read this in the future; I am sorry. I ask for your understanding. I am not sure whether I deserve your forgiveness. I can only offer you this; it was not my intention to withhold the truth, and certainly not for as long as I have. I intend to pass this journal to Colonel George Monro and his allies as soon as I have finished writing it and will allow them to judge me as they will.

The other reason I feel this journal is necessary is because someone needs to tell the world about what happened in Lisbon, about the events that led up to it, and the part that I unwittingly played in such a disaster. I will spend the rest of my life doing everything within my power to ensure that such a tragedy never happens again, including writing this journal so that future generations will know what occurred.

I’ve been trying to work out how to start my tale for a long time, reflecting on my life and wishing that I was able to make more sense out of it, to put it all together in some sort of tale that makes sense and has some sort of satisfactory outcome, but I’m afraid that is not going to happen, no matter how I twist events to suit. Life is rarely as neat or as just as Masters Swift or Milton would have us believe, and no matter how I look at it, my own life proves itself to be nothing more than a tragedy.

I find my mind returning again and again to a few lines. Lines that for the longest time held more of a sway over me than I would like to admit. Words that changed my life forever.

Stay my blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Assassin brotherhood.

These are the tenants of the Creed; the principles I used to live by. I was a damned fool.

I was a young man then. The Seven Years War was about to begin. I could not have imagined what the future had in store for me, nor the cost I would choose to bear.

My name is Shay Patrick Cormac. This is my story.

* * *

I suppose I should start at the beginning, long before I knew that the Assassins and Templars existed, much less how they would come to shape my own life.

I was born in New York on the 12th of September, 1731 to two settlers named Patrick and Ira Cormac. The winter had been a cold one, the labour a difficult one, and my mother died giving birth to me.

I wish I had been given a chance to know her. By all reports she was a lively and fierce woman. My Father used to tell me I had her smile, and whenever the people who knew her spoke to me about her they had nothing but kind words to say.

As for my Father, he was as kind and loving a man as you could ever hope to meet, at least when he was at home. He worked as a naval merchant, his job whisking him out to sea for months at a time, which left me to be raised by my Aunt Louise. Or at least that was the plan.

Louise was my father’s sister, and had come over with him from Dublin, but they were as unalike in temperament as it is possible for two siblings to be, at least when it came to my welfare.

When my father was home he always had plenty of stories to tell, and plenty of warm hugs to share. I would often ride around on his shoulders for as long as he would let me, and he would joke and laugh and ask what trouble I had gotten into while he had been away. No matter how bad the fistfights or how dirty the pranks, he would always smile and laugh and tell me he was proud of me, sometimes even giving me pointers or teaching me new, bawdy sea shanties that I would sing at the top of my lungs while he was away, even if I didn’t understand what half the words meant.

Aunt Louise meanwhile clearly viewed me as nothing more than a burden. She made sure that I was fed and clothed and had a roof over my head, less, I think, because of any sort of maternal instinct, and more because she saw it as her sworn duty. She spent most of her time at the dressmaker’s shop that she owned, and she made it very clear that she could not tolerate me getting underfoot while she worked.

Don’t get me wrong; she wasn’t deliberately cruel. She never beat me or raised her hand in anger, just acted as though I wasn’t there for the most part and banished me from her shop more times than I could count. I was fed and clothed, and as far as Louise was concerned, that was all that she needed to do. God help me, if I’m ever lucky enough to have a child of my own, I would never raise them in the fashion my Aunt Louise raised me. No, I would probably dote on the little one so much that they would grow quite sick of me, and wish to be away from me as soon as possible.

I found out later, when I was old enough to actually understand these things, that Louise had never really approved of my parents’ marriage. After all, my mother, despite being from Dublin just like my father and Aunt Louise, had come from a Protestant family. For a strict Catholic like my Aunt Louise, such a sin was unforgivable.

This all meant that in my younger years I spent many a day away from Aunt Louise and her none-too-watchful gaze, and a lot of time getting into as much trouble as I possibly could.

I would get into fights with other children, simply because I’d seen them picking on a girl or a stray cat. I’d steal bread, not because we were poor, or I was hungry, but just to see if I could get away with it.

If the cuts and bruises were bad enough then sometimes Aunt Louise would notice and give me the telling off I rightly deserved. It was more attention than she usually paid to me though, so I doubt it did much to discourage me in my various misadventures.

One particularly important misadventure happened when I was only seven years old, and still in the habit of trying to sneak off and get into trouble whatever way I could.

I don’t remember how the day started. It was only the way that it shaped my life later that would see me ascribing any sort of significance to it. It started to rain near the middle of the day. I remember that much.

A group of older boys who terrorised the neighbourhood even more than I did had been entertaining themselves throwing mud pies and generally getting themselves as filthy as they possibly could. I probably would have been happy enough to join them, except for the fact that a couple of them had taken it upon themselves to torment one of the neighbourhood girls; a young lass named Lucinda, or Lucy for short.

Lucy was a couple of years younger than them, only a year or so older than myself, and even though her parents were better off than any of ours, her father being a wealthy banker, she had always been drawn to the children that lived in the poorer slums of New York; the rougher, less fortunate children who thought throwing mud pies at passing horses was a most excellent way to pass the time and have fun. Lucy always wanted to join in, although I’m sure her parents would have had a fit if they knew where and how she was spending her time. It never seemed to end well for her anywhere, thanks mostly to ruffians the likes of which were tormenting her on that rainy day.

Lucy would often carry a doll around with her. I didn’t know where it had come from, but could only assume that her mother had made it for her, because it was more finely crafted than any of the ones I saw displayed in shops. The doll’s dresses (and I had seen many different ones over the years) were always made of brightly coloured fabrics and the finest lace, and her hair was the same shade as her mistress’s.

On that day two boys, one tall and lanky, the other shorter and rounder, had stolen the doll, and were threatening to drop it into a nearby puddle of mud. Lucy was close to tears, jumping up at the doll as the two older boys waved it far above her head, and begging them to return the doll to her.

If there was one thing I had never been able to stand then, and still can’t stand now, its people picking on those who are weaker than themselves. I understood why the boys did what they did; Lucy’s family had more wealth than they would probably see in their entire lives, and the girl made it so easy, what with her desperate desire to belong with the other children, but I couldn’t understand how they could taunt her even when there were tears streaming down her cheeks. The doll clearly meant the world to her.

I cried out to the older boys.

“Leave her be!” I said.

The two of them, the tall, lanky one, looked my way and shook the doll in my direction.

“You want to play with it too Shay?” one of them taunted. “Or perhaps it’s Lucy you want to play with, eh?”

I was too young to fully understand what they meant, and knew very little about girls except that one day I would surely develop some sort of interest in them and would be expected to marry one. I liked Lucy well enough, but was years away from seeing her as anything more than a potential friend, and someone that I clearly needed to stand up for.

“You should give that doll back,” I told them. “It’s important to her.”

“We know,” one of the boys said. “That’s why we took it.”

Lucy simply stood back and glanced between me and the two older boys. Her crying had stopped, but she still looked scared.

“Give it back to her now,” I said, advancing on the two older boys, “or I’ll make you regret ever taking it.”

One of the boys just stared at me, his surprise clear on his face. The other laughed. I must have looked a right fool. Both boys easily had a foot of height on me, and several years of experience.

“You?” one of the boys said, stepping forward. “You think you can take on both of us?”

I nodded. Foolish child that I was, I don’t think that I was scared at all.

“I’ll take you both on,” I told them, “and I’ll get the doll back.”

One of them stepped towards me, smiling and cracking his knuckles as he did. The other child waved the doll at Lucy one last time, before stepping forward beside his companion.

The first one was the more heavyset of the two, being not only taller than myself, but reasonably portly as well. He threw a punch that connected with the side of my face and knocked me back. He hadn’t held anything back, and for a moment I saw stars. From what seemed like miles away I heard Lucy let out a distressed cry.

“Don’t get up Cormac,” the second one said, even as I stumbled to my feet. I was having trouble either balancing or focussing properly, but the sight of another punch aimed right for my chin had me snapping awake quickly enough.

I managed to duck beneath this second attack and charged at the boy that had punched me, slamming headfirst into the centre of his torso. He may have been heavy, but I had caught him off guard, and he went falling to the ground on his arse, half of his body soon covered in the same wet muck that coated my trousers and one of my sleeves.

The portly boy got back to his feet quicker and with much less difficulty than I had.

“You’re going to pay for that one Cormac,” he told me.

His companion dropped the doll. Lucy managed to grab it before it fell to the ground, and clutched it close to her chest. I saw her look over to me with wide, damp eyes for a moment, and then she turned tail and ran, abandoning me to my fate.

I smiled up at the larger boys. Whatever they did to me now, it didn’t matter. I had won. Lucy had gotten her doll back.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” my portly tormentor asked.

I tripped him with no warning, sending him back to the ground once more, and scampered off before either of them could stop me. It only took them a moment to recover, and soon they were chasing after me through the streets.

I knew the back streets of New York as well as any child, but unfortunately my opponents knew them pretty well too, and while I might have been a bit more spry, their slightly older bodies gave them a longer stride.

I thought that perhaps I might be able to escape them by climbing up a building, but they managed to follow me there. Even the smallest side alley was still large enough for the two older boys to squeeze through, although it took them far longer than it did me.

I soon found myself at the docks. I had left the two older boys behind in the last alley, and figured I had enough of a lead that I might be able to hide from them. The dock was busy at that time of day, full of sailors and merchants going about their business, and I ducked past a few of them, before spotting a batch of empty barrels that were being loaded onto a ship.

I jumped into the nearest empty barrel, hoping as I did that my opponents had not spotted me, and that the barrel would not suddenly be closed or shifted while I was inside.

I counted the seconds, wondering how long I would have to stay hidden before it would be safe to emerge once more.

When my count reached twenty a face suddenly appeared above the barrel. It was a boy a few years older than me, but it was not one of the two that I had been running from.

The boy frowned at me, but he didn’t look too upset.

“Sorry lad,” he told me, “but I’m not going to load you onto the ship.”

“I’m not a stowaway,” I told him.

“Good thing,” the stranger replied, “because Captain Tybalt has a reputation for selling stowaways and captives to slavers.”

I had never anticipated that my hiding in the barrel could possibly lead to such an awful fate as slavery, and found that I suddenly had a lot more to be worried about than the two boys that had been chasing after me.

“What are you doing in there if you’re not trying to sneak aboard the ship?” the boy asked me.

“Hiding,” I replied. “These two boys are chasing after me.”

“What did you do?” my new friend asked me. “Steal from them?”

“Does it matter?” I replied, seeing no real reason to correct him. “Just please don’t tell them I’m hiding in here.”

The boy frowned again. He disappeared, and after a few seconds he came back with a lid for the barrel. For a moment I was afraid that he was going to nail it down and trap me within, but he simply placed it on top, disappearing again without an explanation.

I must have only been in there for a few minutes, but it was long enough for my hiding place to begin to feel claustrophobic and clammy; less like salvation and more like a coffin. Eventually the other boy came back and removed the lid.

“No sign of them now,” he told me. “Now come on. I need to move that barrel, so you need to get out or I’ll tip it over while you’re still inside.”

I got to my feet and half climbed, half fell out of the barrel. The older boy offered me a hand and helped me to my feet.

I thanked him and then looked around, both checking for signs of the two boys who had been chasing me and inspecting my surroundings. The boy who had helped me seemed to be the only one in charge of rolling the empty barrels towards the boat.

“You have to do all of these by yourself?” I asked my new friend, who had already started to roll my hiding place towards a ship stationed not too far away.

The older boy shrugged.

“I could help if you want,” I offered.

This made the older boy frown at me again.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“To repay you,” I replied. “You helped me, so I should help you. Besides, ain’t as if I’ve got anything else to do.”

“You’re barely big enough to lift one of these barrels, you brat.”

“I can too lift them.”

“Fine, but you ain’t getting any of my pay, you got that?”

I nodded, and moved towards one of the barrels, carefully pushing it on its side so that I could roll it towards the ship.

“What’s your name?” my new friend asked me.

“Shay Patrick Cormac,” I replied.

“I’m Liam,” he told me. “Liam O’Brien.”

We were quiet for a while as I followed Liam, the two of us pushing our barrels down towards a ship named the Invicta, which even at my young age seemed rather small for a merchant vessel, and definitely not worthy of such a prestigious name.

We rolled the barrels up the plank and left them outside of the galley for someone else to take care of. If Captain Tybalt or any of his men noticed that Liam suddenly had a younger boy helping him then none of them chose to comment or stop me, and when we had left the ship and went back to pick up another couple of barrels, Liam turned to me once more.

“What the hell were you doing, picking a fight with boys that much bigger than you?”

So Liam had seen the boys that were looking for me. He might have even talked to them. I was more grateful than ever, knowing that my new friend could have just as easily called them over and given me up as help me hide, especially considering he had suspected I was a thief.

“They were picking on a girl,” I told Liam.

“Ah,” Liam said, as though he understood completely. That was apparently all that needed to be said, because he didn’t question my motives regarding the fight ever again.

“How old are you anyway?” he soon asked me.

“Seven,” I said. I had contemplated lying, but thought better of it. After all, I was starting to rather like Liam, and hoped to keep him as a friend.

Soon it became clear that Liam wasn’t going to say anything else unless I prompted him to.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twelve,” he replied.

Twelve seemed like such a grown up age to me then. In my eyes Liam was practically an adult, which made him even more impressive and worthy of being my friend.

I ended up spending most of the day with Liam. We moved barrels and other assorted cargo for the Invicta for a few hours, and despite Liam telling me earlier that I wasn’t welcome to any of his money, he ended up paying for my dinner along with his own. We traded stories, and the more I talked to Liam, the more I grew to like him.

When sunset came Liam clamped a hand on my shoulder and made sure that I was facing him.

“You got a place to stay?” he asked me, suddenly deadly serious.

“Yes,” I told him. “I’m living with my Aunt Louise. Don’t much like her though.”

“What about your parents?”

I then told him that I had a father, but that he was out at sea.

“No mother though,” I mentioned.

He gave me a rather sad look then, as though he pitied me. I remember, for just a moment, hating him for that. To me my own life seemed rather good. I didn’t need to be pitied.

“Won’t want to be staying with Father Connelly then,” Liam muttered, more to himself than to me, but I was curious to learn every single thing that I could about Liam.

“Who’s Father Connelly?” I asked.

Liam smiled at me, and I knew that he had been hoping I would ask.

“You want to come with me to meet him?” he asked.

I nodded. I had only known Liam for a few hours, but already I felt as though I would follow him across the entire country if he asked me to.

* * *

Liam dragged me to a church near the middle of the city. It was only small, but as a child it seemed like one of the most impressive buildings I had ever seen. The paint was all crisp, fresh and as white as a ship’s sails, in sharp contrast to the red-browns and greys of Aunt Louise’s shop and all the buildings that surrounded it, and the stained glass windows were the first ones that I had ever seen. I was immediately enraptured.

Father Connelly himself was a kindly man that couldn’t have been any more than forty, and who smiled and ruffled my hair when Liam introduced me.

“Another stray for me Liam?” Father Connelly asked.

“Not really,” Liam replied. “He’s got a Father out at sea and a home, but…”

He didn’t finish, just trailed off and waved vaguely in my direction.

“Well, you’re still welcome to stay with us if you want to,” Father Connelly said, ruffling my hair once more. “You too Liam.”

“I brought some money for the church,” Liam told Father Connelly, and then he pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out over half of the money that he had earned that day, placing the small pile of coins in Father Connelly’s hands and giving him the largest smile I think he could have possibly summoned.

I stared at the other boy, more than a little in awe of him.

“Thank you son,” Father Connelly said, “but that’s too much. You worked hard for this, right? It should help you and your mother. I’m sure we have enough here.”

“He did work hard,” I replied for him. “We both worked hard for it, and if he wants you to have the money then you should take it.”

Father Connelly smiled at me, and then leaned over and ruffled my hair again. I playfully objected and tried to bat his hands away this time, but found myself smiling as well.

Eventually we retired to the church’s basement where, to my surprise, Father Connelly was housing over a dozen lost souls, most of them children with no other place to stay. I gazed around me in wonder. How on earth could Father Connelly possibly afford to feed and house so many strangers?

The Father must have guessed my train of thought, because before I could ask anything, he placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Everyone chips in when they can,” Father Connelly told me. “Sure, some of these children might not have any money or anywhere to go now, but I’m sure when they can they will give back to the church, just as you and Liam did today, and many other, more fortunate members of the community give when they can.”

“And you help them all out?” I asked, scarcely able to believe it.

“I swore myself to god,” Father Connelly replied. “I would be a poor servant indeed if I did not attempt to help out my fellow man as much as I possibly could.”

He soon left us to mingle with the other children.

“When my family and I first moved to New York we were struggling a bit,” Liam told me. “Didn’t have enough money, and it took my father a long time to find a good job. Father Connelly helped us out and never asked my family for anything in return, so now I try to help him and the children here when I can.”

I stared around us at the church’s basement, and at the children that were huddled in various corners. I recognised a couple from playing with them in the streets. There were books and candles scattered around the space, as well as a few old toys. It wasn’t much, but to the eyes of a child who spent most of their time playing in the streets, it seemed like a little corner of paradise.

“We can really spend the night here?” I asked Liam.

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “If you want. I mean, as long as your Aunt will be all right with it.”

I was sure that my aunt would barely miss me.

Apparently Liam’s mother was used to him spending a night or two at Father Connelly’s church as well, because as far as I can tell, he never got into any trouble for spending the night there with me, and even though the two of us were quite well off compared to many of Father Connelly’s charges, he never objected to the two of us spending time there.

It would be tempting to look back at Father Connelly with the hardened, cynical eyes of a world-weary adult and say ‘oh, there must have been something wrong with him. He cannot possibly be the saint that you describe Shay’ but I swear to you, Father Connelly was just that good of a person. Few people in the world are, I think, as inherently good as he was. In my life I have been lucky enough to meet two such men.

* * *

After that day I spent as much time with Liam as I possibly could. Between his association with the most excellent Father Connelly and his work at the docks, he seemed like the most fascinating person in the world to me. Most days when he worked at the docks I would join him there. Sometimes I would help with whatever his work for the day was, and a couple of times I even got paid a penny or two for my efforts. Other times, mostly when either Liam or his superiors deemed whatever he was doing to be too difficult for my young, inexperienced hands, I would simply find a suitable perch nearby, and the two of us would trade stories while Liam worked. Sometimes I would worry that my presence was annoying the older lad, but he assured me that our swapping stories made the work go faster.

When we were not to be found by the docks or at Father Connelly’s, we could often be found racing through the streets. Liam knew certain parts of New York even better than I did, and he showed me all sorts of shortcuts and hidden places that I didn’t even know existed. He was also a better climber than me by far. Luckily for me Liam was quite a willing tutor, and after knowing him for only a few months we were both scurrying over rooftops like a pair of stray cats.

When he discovered that I didn’t know how to read he quickly decided it was up to him to remedy that problem as well. Apparently Father Connelly had taken it upon himself to teach all of his children (or at least the ones that were enthusiastic about learning) how to read and write, including Liam. Even though Liam was only a few years older than me he made an excellent tutor, and when the religious texts and fables in Father Connelly’s possession proved too dry to keep either of us entertained for very long, we took to ‘borrowing’ texts from my Aunt Louise.

A lot of her books were even drier than the Father’s, but we also managed to liberate a few adventure novels, and a few romances, at least one of which was definitely not suitable for boys our age, but which we devoured even more enthusiastically than the others, even though I was sure we didn’t understand half of it.

Liam taught me so much in those days, and if he was ever annoyed with the younger boy that insisted on trailing after him wherever he went then he never showed it, always having a smile and a tale for me whenever he saw me.

He was my dearest friend in all the world.

Meanwhile, Father Connelly’s church became like a second home to me. The truth was, despite the fact that the blankets at Aunt Louise’s house were thicker, and the food heartier, I much preferred Father Connelly’s church. Both it and Liam’s companionship warmed my heart more than any number of thick woollen blankets ever could.

Sometimes Aunt Louise would ask me where I had been. Telling her I had been out with Liam got me nothing but a confused or even slightly upset look. Louise had decided to hate Liam, even though she had never met him. Telling her that I had spent time with Father Connelly however… well, she had plenty of questions, but when she found out that Father Connelly was not a puritan like so many of our neighbours, but a good Catholic priest, then as far as she was concerned he could do no wrong.

As time passed I began to fear that perhaps I was taking advantage of Father Connelly’s hospitality. After all, most of the children that stayed with him only did so because they had nowhere else to go. As much as I might have disliked living with Aunt Louise, at least she fed and clothed me. When I told Father Connelly as much he just laughed at me.

“You’ve been helping out here, right?” he asked me.

I had.

“And you’ve been helping Liam with his work at the docks, right?” he asked. “And Liam gives a lot of his money to me and the church, so in a way you’re donating too.”

“I guess that’s true,” I said, although my guilt was far from banished.

“Tell you what,” Father Connelly said, giving me a wink. “How about you give the pews a proper sweep and we’ll call it even.”

Even at that age I remember thinking that the small chores that I did for Father Connelly couldn’t possibly be worth what he had done for me, but I said nothing, merely throwing myself into whatever work the priest offered me, contenting myself with the knowledge that one day, when I was older and capable of making my own way in the world, I would find some way to pay back this man’s kindness.

* * *

One day about a year after I had come to know Liam, Father Connelly brought a strange-looking machine into the church. Liam and I were in the building at that time, huddled over an adventure novel of some description, but we immediately abandoned our book in favour of helping the Father carry the machine down to the bowels of the church.

“What on earth is this thing?” I asked the Father as we watched him set up the strange contraption.

“It’s magic,” the Father replied, with a twinkle in his eye.

I remember wondering if it was blasphemy to claim such a thing, and whether Liam and I might be burnt along with the Father for practising ungodly witchcraft. It was all very exciting.

“Can you fetch some candles for me Liam?” the Father instructed.

“But what does it do?” I asked, suddenly eyeing the machine with even more interest than before.

“You’ll have to wait until tonight to see,” Father Connelly replied.

He smiled as he took the candles that Liam had fetched for him and then banished the two of us from the basement.

* * *

That night we did indeed find out what it was that Father Connelly had brought to the church. The Father rounded up as many children as he could and ushered them into the basement. I remember being both excited and scared at the same time, thinking that perhaps he was going to do something horrible. Liam just laughed at my speculations. I think he must have guessed what the machine was ahead of time, but if he had then he certainly wasn’t telling the rest of us what it was.

We all sat huddled facing one wall while Father Connelly did something involving the machine, a couple of candles and a few darkly coloured pieces of glass.

Soon the wall that we were facing came to life in a brilliant display of colour and light. We were looking at a boat sailing on a crystal blue sea. The image took up the whole wall, and the waves beneath the boat moved slowly, even as we watched it.

I dare say that it will not seem like much to anyone who is reading this, but at the time I had never even heard of a magic lantern show, much less seen one in person.

I gasped as Father Connelly launched into the tale of Jonah and the whale, the story brought to life on the wall in front of me. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, and when the tale ended all the children clapped in delight and let out cries of ‘huzzah’ or called for another tale.

Father Connelly bowed modestly and proclaimed that he would put on more magic lantern shows for the children, but on other nights. That night it was time for all of us to go to sleep or to scurry home.

* * *

Word of the Father’s magic lantern spread throughout the area. While at first his tales had been exclusively for the children that the Father had taken under his wing, he soon allowed others, both children and adult alike, to come and watch the shows on the condition that they donate a small sum of money to the church in exchange. I even saw Lucy and her parents there a couple of times.

The children always came first though, and a couple of times those who would have paid money to see the show were turned away so that there would be enough room for all the children.

I have no idea how Father Connelly was able to come across such a magnificent thing as the magic lantern, and while I asked him about it several times he never gave me a straight answer. Usually he would just smile mysteriously and change the subject. To this day I still don’t know where the blasted thing came from.

Liam and I never missed a single show that Father Connelly put on. Not as long as we were both in New York at any rate. I even dragged my father to see one when his ship was in port, but I think he was more interested in the priest who had been helping to raise his son, than the light show itself. He spent half of the show glaring at the lights on the wall, as though they would prove to be foul magic after all and steal his soul or mine at any moment, and afterwards he spent a good hour talking to Father Connelly about myself and Liam.

I was happy in those days, with Liam at my side and a promising future ahead of me. I thought I had everything worked out. There seemed to be nothing to worry about except the prospect of Aunt Louise catching me and Liam getting up to mischief, or making sure that I repaid Father Connelly’s kindness in whatever way I could.

Life seemed so simple.

Alas, it seems as though I have already spent too much time writing today. I feel as though I have not committed much of my tale to paper at all, but I have discovered it is far too tempting to linger on these younger, more innocent years, when the world seemed full of such hope and promise and my bond with Liam seemed indestructible.

However, I can linger no longer. Gist is calling for me. My attention is required on deck. With any luck they’ve spotted a French cargo vessel, ready for the plundering. I shall continue my tale tomorrow.


	2. 17th July 1757

17th July 1757

I find myself glancing over yesterday’s journal entry. It is, I think, mostly coherent, although I feel I should add an addendum. Yesterday’s interruption was unfortunately not a French cargo vessel, but a small military vessel. It was no match for the Morrigan and we have taken some of its canon and shot on board, but I am worried that it was able to make it this far downriver without being challenged. Gist claims we were lucky to come across her before she could flee completely. I disagree. I make my own luck. It was careful planning of our route, a good eye from our lookout and good seamanship from my men that let us catch her. Not luck.

Enough of such things. If anyone is, for whatever reason reading this, I am sure that it will be because they are interested in my past, and will find my concerns over the French to be nothing more than an unwelcome interruption, so without further ado I shall return to my tale.

* * *

When I was ten my father approached me while his was ship was docked for a couple of weeks and asked if I wanted to join him on board the Cyrene. The question had barely left his mouth when I told him ‘yes’. The truth was I’d been wanting to join him for years, and I had been dropping some not-so-subtle hints that this was the case for the last couple. At ten I suppose he deemed me finally old enough.

“Can Liam come with us?” I asked, as soon as we had shaken hands and made a proper promise of the thing.

“I’m going to have my hands full enough just keeping an eye on one of you,” my father told me, pulling me into a rough, one-armed hug as he did. “Maybe when I’ve got you trained up some, eh?”

It did not seem at all fair to me. After all, Liam was already fifteen, almost a fully grown man in his own right, and therefore much more intelligent and capable and strong, and really, he wouldn’t be a hassle at all. He had already been working at the docks for years, and was a good climber and a strong swimmer, so surely he would be perfectly at home on board a ship.

I tried to tell my father all of this, tried to convince him that Liam would be the best sailor that my father had ever seen, but my father was having none of it.

I was torn. On the one hand, I was being offered that which I had spent years longing for; the chance to join my father out on the open seas. On the other hand, it would mean leaving my dear friend Liam behind. It seemed like an impossible choice.

When the next day came and I tracked Liam down in order to talk to him about it he just laughed at me.

“Don’t be daft Shay!” he told me. “You’ve wanted this for years. You can’t go throwing away something as grand as this for my sake. You should go out there with your pa and have fun, not be stuck here hauling barrels and huddling in Father Connelly’s basement with me.”

* * *

A couple of weeks later I bade farewell to Liam, Father Connelly and the other children at the orphanage. I think a few of the children were jealous of the grand adventure I was about to embark on, and made a great deal out of it, telling me that I was abandoning them and that in all likelihood I would forget that they existed and never see them again. The sad thing was they weren’t entirely wrong. While I did make an effort to visit Father Connelly’s church the first few times we went back into New York, the faces there grew less and less familiar each time, and in the end the only one I kept in contact with was Liam, and that… Well, I shall get to that part of my tale soon enough.

I was excited to be joining my father on the Cyrene, but my excitement was tempered by the knowledge that I was going to have to leave Liam behind. It would be months before I would see him again, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage without him.

Before I could finish saying goodbye to Liam he thrust something into my hands. I found myself holding a brand new copy of Gulliver’s Travels. Together we had stolen and read my Aunt’s copy at least a half dozen times.

“I thought it would be good if you had something to read on the journey,” Liam told me.

My hands shook as I took the book from Liam. I clutched it to my chest. I could feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but choked them back. After all, I didn’t want to look weak in front of the other children, especially Liam. I threw my arms around the older boy and hugged him as tightly as I possibly could, squashing the book and the arm that carried it between us.

“Don’t worry,” Liam told me, ruffling my hair gently. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

I don’t feel quite so ashamed now when I admit that I might have cried a little before I could finally be convinced to let Liam go.

In the end Liam accompanied me all the way to the docks, where he stood, watching and occasionally waving goodbye, until long after the Cyrene had pulled away and my attention had been stolen away by other things.

* * *

For the first few days I mostly followed my father around and watched what he and the crew were doing. I had a feeling that I got in the way more than anything else though, and I could always hear Aunt Louise in the back of my mind, complaining that I was good for nothing but messing everything up.

Sometimes my father would have a job for me; simple things like cleaning or helping the ship’s cook prepare dinner. I think in those first few weeks he was far too busy just being the Cyrene’s captain, plotting our course and making sure everything was running smoothly to be able to spare much attention for me.

We were a week or so into our voyage when things changed. I was curled up in the Captain’s cabin, reading the copy of Gulliver’s Travels that Liam had given to me. I had been careful to keep it in as good condition as I possibly could, and never took it outside of my father’s cabin.

“What have you got there?” my father asked me.

I told him, and he nodded slowly, his eyes going wide.

“You can read?”

“Yes sir,” I responded quickly. I closed the book carefully, assuming that my father wished to talk with me and would probably require my attention for a while.

“What about writing; can you do that too?”

“A little, sir,” I replied. The truth was that I had discovered within myself a love of books and reading, but I had been given little opportunity to write, and even though Liam and Father Connelly had done their best to teach me, my writing was still rather clumsy.

“Can you show me?” my father asked, gesturing to his desk, where a stoppered bottle of ink was attached to the captain’s desk, along with a few sheets of paper. I recalled that he had been in the process of writing some sort of correspondence earlier that day, but had been called away to attend to his duties.

I sat down at the desk. It was a little awkward, considering the chair and desk were both designed for someone much larger than me, but I did my best. The sea rolled beneath us, a large wave rocking the ship just as I opened the ink, and for a moment I was afraid that I would spill it, but in the end the only ink spilled ended up being on my hand, and was wiped off easily enough.

“What should I write?” I asked my father, once the ink had been cleaned up.

“Whatever you would like,” he told me. “Show me what you can do.”

With a hand that shook from nerves as much as from lack of practise, I pressed the pen to the paper and began to write.

“Greetings Captain of the Cyrene.” I feel that I was only able to get the spelling of the ship’s name correct because I had seen it, displayed on her side so many times over the years. The red paint was faded and chipped now, but the letters were still clear enough.

“How fares your journey?” I continued to write.

I am sure that my own letters were atrocious, but nevertheless my father smiled at me.

“Very well thank you Master Cormac,” he said in reply.

He was silent for a moment as he looked at me. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he impressed?

“I was planning to teach you how to read and write as part of your education on board this vessel,” my father revealed. “But I can see that is hardly necessary.”

“I think I need to practise,” I told him.

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” my father replied. “You’ve clearly got the basics down. You can use my things to write letters to your friend Liam in your spare time, if you truly feel the need to practise.”

“However,” he said, clamping a hand down on my shoulder. “Now that I know you can read and write, I think there are much more interesting things that I can teach you.”

I watched my father closely as he moved to the back of the cabin and began rummaging around in a couple of chests there. In a few minutes he returned to the table, carrying two armfuls of rolled up pieces of parchment. He deposited them on the table in front of me without even checking to see whether my earlier writing was fully dry. A couple of the parchments unrolled a few inches, just enough for me to be able to see that at least a few of the pieces of parchment were highly detailed maps.

“Shay my boy, I’m going to teach you how to be a sailor,” my father told me.

Truer words were never spoken. Over the next few months my father taught me everything he knew, including how to read the charts that detailed shipping lanes and currents, and how to read the much more subtle and temperamental sea and skies. He taught me how to navigate by his charts and by the stars alike, and, in his own subtle way, how to be a good captain.

I don’t think that last one was deliberate, but a lot of my time was still spent following him around the ship. Occasionally he would point something out, or explain something that the men were doing, but mostly I just watched him. I was his constant shadow, and as my father was a good captain, beloved by all of the men under his command, I soon picked up a few pointers. He was a kind but firm leader, compassionate, but always demanding respect when the situation called for it.

I had loved him when I only saw him for a few weeks in every year. Now that I could see him in his element, I loved him even more.

I came to know a few of the men under his command as well. They all treated me kindly enough, knowing that if they didn’t their captain would surely have a few words for them, but there were only a few that I came to have any sort of true friendship with.

One of these was Roy Davies, my father’s first mate. He was a few years older than my father, and had been with him as long as I had been alive. He was one of only a handful of other Irishmen on the ship, which explained his bond with my father, and from my very first day on the ship he treated me like I was part of his own family, perhaps an unruly younger brother or cousin.

When it came time for me to learn how to use a sword Davies taught me as much as my father did. My father kept an eye on us, of course, but Davies had more time to spare for sparring than my father did, and I think he might have been a better fighter than my father to boot, although neither of them would have ever admitted it.

Every few days when the sea was calm enough to permit it, we would clear a space on deck and Davies and I would practise. At first we only used wooden swords, or focused on my hand to hand fighting skills, but by the end of my first journey on board the Cyrene, Davies had decided that I had earned the right to use a real sword.

As for our destination on that first journey, it had been over a month since our departure from New York before I even thought to ask about it.

 “Has your father told you where we’re headed?” Davies asked me one day when we were both resting on the foredeck after a long bout of training. We were both covered in sweat and panting. My body ached all over, but in a good way. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I was getting better. Davies had only managed to land a couple of blows with his wooden sword that day. I wouldn’t have to deal with as many bruises as I sometimes did.

I shook my head. I was getting good enough at navigating now that I knew we had been heading steadily East, probably towards Europe, but I had absolutely no idea what our final destination might be.

Davies smiled at me.

“We’re going to Dublin,” he revealed. “I suspect that’s why Captain Cormac wanted this one to be your first voyage.”

I was going to see the motherland; the place of my parents’ birth. I don’t think I ever would have guessed. I had been so torn up at the thought of leaving Liam behind when we had first left New York that I hadn’t even thought to ask where we would be travelling to.

I was so excited that I ran off to find my father immediately. He was sitting in his cabin, probably attending to financial affairs, as he often did when the seas were calm and he wasn’t urgently needed up on deck.

“Are we really going to Ireland?” I asked him.

My father looked more than a little surprised.

“Indeed we are Shay,” he said, “but I was hoping it would be a surprise. Who was the blighter who told you?”

“Davies,” I immediately replied, too excited to worry about the fact that I might have been getting Davies in trouble. Besides, I was well aware that my father considered Davies to be a very good friend indeed and would not become angry with him over such a small thing.

“Of course it was,” my father muttered, although a smile graced his face.

I feel as though I should take a moment to describe my father. I can still see his face so clearly. I have been told by many that I have my mother’s mouth and eyes, but my father had the same strong brow and nose, the same square chin, and the same dark hair as I do now. He had also, at this stage in his life, taken to wearing his hair long, tied back with a bit of ribbon, and had a most excellent pair of mutton chops.

“It’s why I wanted this to be your first voyage,” my father revealed, confirming my earlier suspicions. “We’ll be stopping in for only a couple of days, not nearly long enough to see everything in Ireland that I would want to show you, but at least you’ll be able to see her green hills and walk upon her shores for a short while.”

* * *

By the time we arrived in Dublin I was so excited that I could barely contain it. It was everything that my father had promised it would be, and yet when I stepped ashore it felt as though something was missing. I had been sure that when I saw my family’s homeland for the first time, it would feel like coming home, but it didn’t.

Dublin itself wasn’t all that different from New York, except that nearly every single person I talked to had the same Irish accents as my family, and if anything it just made me long to return home and see New York and my friend Liam again. I liked it well enough I suppose, and I always loved it when the Cyrene journeyed there, but I think even then I preferred the seas closer to home; my home in the colonies.

Before we left Dublin my father pulled me aside and the two of us had dinner together in a local public house. My father had been acting secretive all day, and none of the Cyrene’s crew had been invited, so it was clear to me that something was out of the ordinary about this particular dinner.

“You’ve been enjoying your time on the Cyrene?” my father asked me when we were halfway through dinner.

“Very much so,” I told him. It was the truth. I might have been slightly homesick then, but I supposed that was only to be expected considering it was the first time I had ever been out of New York.

“You’ve made me very proud Shay,” my father told me, and I beamed. I think that up until that moment I had been half afraid that I was going to get into trouble for some reason.

“Your training with Davies seems to be going well,” he continued. “So I thought I would buy you a gift while we were here.”

My eyes darted to the cloth-wrapped package that he had brought with him into the public house. I had assumed that it must have been something either for himself or for use on board the Cyrene, but now that I knew it was a gift for me I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

Luckily it wasn’t long before he picked it up off the bench next to him and placed it on the table in front of me.

“Go on,” he said. “Take a look.”

I unwrapped the cloth parcel to find a short sword, complete with its own sheath and belt. It was a fairly basic weapon as far as these things go, and a little shorter than normal to accommodate the fact that I still had a lot of growing to do, but my eyes lit up and I don’t think I could have stopped myself from grinning if I tried.

I leapt up from my seat and wrapped my arms around my father in the tightest hug I could possibly manage, thanking him a dozen times over for what seemed to me to be the most excellent gift in the world. We halted our dinner momentarily so that he could help me wrap the belt around my waste and get the sword and its sheath sitting correctly on my hip.

When we returned to the ship that night I rushed to show Davies my new gift. He smiled at me, the sort of sly, devilish smile he would often get, and I knew that he had probably known about the gift before my father had even purchased it.

From that day forward I took that sword with me wherever I went. That sword and the copy of Gulliver’s Travels that Liam had given me were my dearest possessions, my own little treasures, worth all the gold in the world to me.


	3. 18th July 1757

18th July 1757

When the Cyrene returned to New York I half expected to see Liam already waiting for me at the docks. After all, as far as I knew he was still working for the same shipping company that he had for as long as we had been friends.

There was no sign of Liam though, not at the docks, where to my surprise they told me that Liam hadn’t worked for them for over a year. For some reason Liam hadn’t told me this. When I checked at Father Connelly’s church I discovered that not only was he not there, but Father Connelly hadn’t seen Liam for over a week as well.

Over the years I had not had much to do with Liam’s mother. I think she viewed me as a bad influence, and I can’t say I would have blamed her. Regardless, I went to visit her on that day, thinking that she might be the only one who knew what had happened to my friend.

Liam’s father had died a year or so before I met him, and the O’Brien house had been a solemn one ever since. Liam had never told me what had happened, and it wasn’t until many years later, when we were both adults that I learned the truth. Liam, at the tender age of ten, had discovered that the shipping company that he and his father worked for was unforgivably corrupt, and had decided to do something about it. Events had eventually led to Liam killing a man in self-defence. His father, unable to stand by and watch as his son was put to death for murder, took the blame for the killing and was hung.

When I called on Liam’s mother on that day it almost seemed as though she was in mourning now not just for her husband, but for her son as well. She hadn’t seen him, and had no idea where I might find him or what he was doing. She wouldn’t even know whether or not he was still alive, if it wasn’t for the letters and sums of unexplained money that he kept sending her.

I bade Mrs O’Brien farewell, and wondered if I would have to give up my hopes of seeing Liam while we were docked. I wanted to tell him about the journey, about Ireland and serving under my father, and I desperately wanted to show him the sword that my father had given me, but when a couple of days had passed and there was still no sign of Liam my excitement turned to worry, and I would have settled for just knowing for sure that my dear friend was still alive and well.

The Cyrene was scheduled to be in New York for around three weeks. We were well and truly in the second when my path finally crossed with Liam’s. I spotted him out and about with a dark-skinned stranger who looked to be substantially older than either of us. I had no idea what Liam was doing, or who the stranger was, but as soon as I saw Liam I called out and ran after him.

Liam was obviously surprised to see me, but nevertheless he smiled when I ran up to him.

“I thought you were out on the seas with your Da,” Liam commented.

“I was,” I replied, “but we’ve stopped in New York for a while. We’ll be shipping out again in a few days. I’m glad I caught up with you Liam. I was beginning to fear that I wouldn’t see you at all.”

I wrapped my arms around him in the tightest embrace I could manage. It was a few very awkward seconds before Liam returned the gesture.

The man that had been accompanying Liam looked between the two of us before nodding at my friend.

“I’ll leave the two of you to catch up in private,” he told Liam. “Return to the homestead whenever you’re ready.”

I had no idea what the man was talking about, but could only assume that he was Liam’s employer. When I asked Liam about the man he avoided anything even approaching a straight answer, sometimes not even replying at all.

“You don’t have to be so mysterious,” I told Liam.

That only earned me a frown, and another stubborn silence. I got a similar response when I told him that his mother was worried about him, and that he should pay her a visit.

I was beginning to worry that Liam didn’t want anything to do with me at all. Still, we spent the next day together, simply wandering the streets of New York and catching up over a hearty meal and a pint of ale. He at least did a good job of pretending to be interested in what I had to tell him about my journey, but offered no information about his own life in exchange.

The next day he left, undoubtedly to join his dark-skinned employer at ‘the homestead’, wherever the hell that was, and soon after that myself and the rest of the crew of the Cyrene were busy preparing for our next voyage. It felt to me as though something was clearly very wrong with Liam, and that our friendship might be fading, but soon enough I was able to distract myself with thoughts of the Cyrene and the open ocean.

* * *

Over the next few years I grew to be more at home on sea than I was on land. My training with my father and Davies continued, and soon I was land a few good hits when sparring with Davies, although he was still clearly my superior, mostly because he had both a foot or so of height and many years of experience on me. Soon I started to help my father to navigate, and helped out on board the ship wherever I could. My duties on board the ship had started out as little more than cleaning or helping out the cook, but soon I was climbing the masts and unfurling the sails along with all the other men.

Meanwhile, Liam, when I did manage to see him, grew more and more distant. Our paths would usually cross, at least for a few hours, whenever I was in port in New York, but I was always the one that had to seek Liam out, and he never seemed quite as happy to see me as I was to see him.

I told myself that it was the several years of age between us that were to blame. After all, he was no longer a child now. He probably wanted nothing to do with me anymore, especially considering I spent so much time at sea and away from New York. He never said as much though, and I selfishly continued to seek him out, afraid of the day when he would outright refuse to spend time with me, or even worse, simply disappear, leaving me and New York behind.

* * *

The next event of import occurred in the year of 1743. I was only fourteen years old, and had been stationed on board the Cyrene with my father for a few years. I speak of the day that the Cyrene was attacked by pirates.

It was late in the afternoon, and we were taking a hold full of cotton, wool and a hefty sum of gold from Madrid to New York and were only a couple of weeks into the return journey when the men spotted the slightly smaller craft that was heading straight for us.

The Cyrene was purely a merchant vessel and she wasn’t outfitted for war, having only a couple of smaller cannon to her name. We fired off a couple of warning shots, but they did not dissuade the pirates at all. Instead we all took cover as a return volley splintered wood all around us and damaged the main mast enough that I was amazed it didn’t topple.

Davies had taken shelter next to me. I must have looked as terrified as I felt, because he clamped a hand down on my shoulder and sent me a reassuring smile.

“It’ll be all right Shay,” he told me. “They’re not going to sink the ship and see all of our valuable cargo sinking to the bottom of the ocean. They’ll have to board us, and then they’ll see that you don’t want to go messing with the crew of the Cyrene.”

He drew his blunderbuss as he said that, giving me an eager grin. I wished that I felt as confident as he seemed to, but while I had been in my fair share of fights by this stage, I had never before had to fear that I might die if I lost.

The Cyrene shuddered as the pirate ship rammed into us. Several men fell over. Others took this as a sign to draw their swords and pistols and ready themselves for a fight. 

Davies had been right. Every man aboard the Cyrene knew how to hold their own in a fight, and the pirate vessel couldn’t have had many more men on board than the Cyrene did. The pirates had probably been hoping that we would be easy prey. They were wrong, but that didn’t stop the experience from being a terrifying one.

The sound of steel hitting steel echoed all around me, as all over the Cyrene the pirates and the crew of the merchant vessel clashed in battle. I had the sword that my father had given me in Dublin, but now that real battle was upon us, I found that my hands shook so much I could barely hold it straight.

I was so scared that I couldn’t even move. I may have trained with Davies, but nothing could have prepared me for this. I had never even watched someone die in combat before, much less taken a life myself, and yet all around me men on both sides were dying.

It wasn’t until one of the pirates came charging towards me, and Davies leapt in front of me to protect me, his sword clashing with that of the pirate, that I snapped out of it.

I jumped to my feet, and while the pirate was distracted with Davies, I plunged my sword into his back. The pirate was so surprised that he didn’t even have time to react. He just fell to the ground in front of me with a gurgled cry.

It was the first life that I had ever taken.

“Thanks lad,” Davies told me, squeezing my shoulder tightly.

There was no time to reflect on what had happened, no time to feel remorse or to consider that I had just snatched another man’s life away from him, not when the battle still raged all around me.

I glanced around the ship, looking for my father and hoping that I would find him still alive. When I spotted him he was holding his ground just behind the wheel, battling sword against sword with one of the pirates. My father was not a short man, but his opponent easily towered over him, and wore one of the strangest combinations of clothing I could have possibly imagined; a mixture of bright silks and lace than might have looked grand if all the garments hadn’t been so torn and moth-eaten, including an enormous, wide-brimmed hat that covered up long, tangled hair. I don’t think he could have more matched my mental image of a pirate unless I gave him a peg-leg and a parrot.

Their swords clashed again and again. My father already had a nasty cut on one of his legs, and it was clear to me that his strength was waning. If someone didn’t do something soon then it looked as though my father would be killed.

I started to run towards the two of them, ducking beneath or around several other skirmishes as I did. Everyone was already tied up in their own battles, and I think very few of them paid any attention at all to me as I ducked around them. After all, I was young, barely a man at all, and held a sword that was little better than a dagger. I couldn’t possibly be a threat.

My father dodged a blow from the pirate that would have torn his stomach wide open and spilled his guts on the floor if he hadn’t stepped back in time. Moving had left him open and off balance though, and the pirate kicked at my father’s legs, overbalancing him and sending him falling awkwardly to the deck.

My father reached for his sword, but the large pirate kicked it away and out of his reach. It was clear that my father would not be able to defend himself; would not be able to stop the next blow from the pirate captain’s sword as it came plunging down into his chest, or separated his head from his torso.

I cried out for my father as I charged towards the large pirate. His back was to me, and I don’t think he realized that someone might come up from behind to attack him until the instant my blade plunged into his back.

The pirate froze with his arms still outstretched. He stumbled a little, but I think he was too shocked to really do anything. Time seemed to slow down. I wrenched the blade from out of the pirate’s back. He started to turn towards me, but before he could make it the whole way I swung my sword again, this time slicing across his neck.

It was not a particularly sharp sword, but it did not need to be with the amount of rage and force that I put into the blow. The pirate’s neck opened in a jagged gash and blood immediately began to pour down his neck, staining his once colorful costume.

He dropped his sword, and then slowly slumped onto the deck. He glared up at me for what seemed like ages, but eventually, when his body lay still on the deck and his eyes had closed, I was granted reprieve from that baleful glare, although it haunted me in my nightmares for quite some time afterwards. The pirate’s blood spread out from the large wound in his neck, and I took a step back so that it would not reach my feet.

I think I was just as stunned my by actions as the pirate had been. I must have just been standing there staring at the fallen pirate for a while. If the fight had still been raging around me then my freezing and leaving myself open like that would have been dangerous indeed. As it stood, I didn’t need to worry about that.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the pirate that I had killed had been the captain of the enemy vessel. When he had fallen his crew had let out cries of alarm, and many of them had stopped fighting. With their leader gone they were either slaughtered by my shipmates or quickly surrendered to us. I wasn’t really aware of any of this though.

Nor did I realize that my father had been calling to me and trying to get my attention until he placed a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, still stunned from the battle, and realized that it was only my father who had touched me, just in time to stop myself from swinging my sword at him.

“Easy Shay,” my father said. “The battle’s over now son. You killed the enemy’s captain. Not only that, but you saved my life. Thank you.”

I nodded, and then slowly the import of what I had done began to sink in.

When a series of ‘huzzahs’ made their way around the ship I joined in. Later I would reflect on the fact that I had taken the lives of not one, but two men on that day and feel rather guilty about it. It would only be through telling myself that I had to kill the pirates in order to protect my father and the other men on board the Cyrene that would stop me from either crying or being sick, but in the moment after the fight I couldn’t help but be lifted up by the crew’s enthusiasm. After all, I was a hero.

One of the men picked up the hat that the now dead pirate captain had been wearing and placed it on my head. I laughed and cheered, but did not keep the hat for more than a few moments.

* * *

The fact that I had both killed the pirate captain and saved my father’s life earned me a lot of respect and good will from the men. For the rest of that particular journey it seemed as though I was everyone’s favorite crewmate, and my father made sure that I got an extra share of the profits on that voyage, as well as a hefty share of the loot we found on board the pirate vessel.

We scuttled the pirate ship for whatever good and materials we could find. I had images in my mind of gold and jewels, such as pirates always seemed to possess in the novels I had read with Liam, and was therefore disappointed when their hold contained nothing more exotic than a few rolls of silk. Still, we ended up making quite a lot of coin selling what we found aboard that boat, and we needed a certain amount of wood and fabric for repairs after the battle. Davies and my father decided that we might as well take a few of the pirates’ canons with us well.

The pirates that had surrendered to us were taken to New York, where no doubt they were locked away in prison for many a long year or executed for their crimes.

* * *

The next time we pulled into port at New York I was even more excited to find Liam than I usually would be. I wanted to tell him about my fight with the pirate captain. I was sure that he would be just as impressed with my feat as my father’s crew had been. I was prepared to spend a few days searching for him, but when I asked in all the usual places I discovered that no-one had seen or heard from him in months. I had learned of the places that the more grown-up Liam had started to frequent over the last few years; the inns and merchants where he would spend his money, but the last time any of them had seen him had been nearly six months earlier, not long after I had last shipped out on the Cyrene. The sums of money were still turning up at his mother’s home, but the letters that he used to write her no longer were.

It looked as though this time Liam had disappeared for good, and as far as anyone was aware, he had no intentions of returning any time soon.

I was heartbroken. I had no idea where to look for Liam. He hadn’t even left me a note, and when I checked on Father Connelly, I discovered that Liam hadn’t even said goodbye to the old priest prior to disappearing. Whatever had grabbed his attention, it was clearly more important to him than anything he had left in New York.

I stayed with Father Connelly that night, but it wasn’t the same without Liam beside me, and I cried myself to sleep, knowing that Liam had at last abandoned me, just as I had always feared he would.

* * *

The next day I tried to distract myself by helping out at Father Connelly’s church. The priest tried to tell me that it was perfectly normal for friends to drift apart as they grew older, and as the next couple of days wore on, I slowly came to terms with the fact that perhaps there just wasn’t any room in Liam’s life for me anymore.

After all, he was nineteen then; most definitely a man in his own right. He probably didn’t want me trailing after him. Of course he would be busy with his mysterious job, whatever it might have been. More than that, he was of an age where he was probably more concerned with chasing women than chasing coin. He might even be trying to find a wife. Perhaps he had already had a woman, and that was why he hadn’t returned to New York.

Keep in mind that I was fourteen at this stage; the perfect age to start thinking about such things myself, and it was a recipe for disaster. Liam had broken my heart by disappearing as he had, and I am ashamed to say that over the next few years, I did not behave in a manner that would have made either Liam or Father Connelly proud of me.

Oh, I am sure that the crew of the Cyrene noticed the change, and I am sure that some of them approved of it, not least because part of the change involved me throwing myself into my duties on board my father’s ship like a man possessed. I worked as hard as I possibly could, hard enough that I might be able to forget that I had been tossed aside like an old rag doll, and hard enough that most nights I collapsed onto my bunk, with no energy to think about anything but the work ahead of me.

The other part of the change involved me beginning to pay more attention to women. After all, after months at sea with nought but the rough men on board the Cyrene for company, almost any women looked like the most welcoming and beautiful thing in the world, and if Liam had been whisked away by their charms then surely I was allowed to be as well.

My father tried to discourage my flirting, claiming I was too young to be worrying about such things, and surely afraid that I was going to accidentally get some poor lass with child. The truth was however, that no matter how much I boasted to the men on board the Cyrene, or how outrageously I flirted, my dalliances with the fairer sex never went much further than wandering hands and a few stolen kisses. When I did finally lay with a woman, I wanted it to be with one that I loved, or at least one that I cared for in some manner.

Davies I think knew me well enough to notice something wasn’t quite right, and a couple of times he tried talking to me about it. I would hear none of it though. Thanks to my killing the pirate captain and my newfound bawdiness the men liked me well enough, my father seemed happy with my enthusiasm for work, and I was more than pulling my weight on board the Cyrene. I didn’t see that there was a problem at all.

The next few years are a blur in my memory; a mixture of different ports and different sailors as the crew on board the Cyrene changed over the years. Of course, there was always myself, my father, Davies and a crew of loyal, hard-working men, some of which had been with my father longer than I had been alive.

There were women too. So many women, from so many different countries and walks of life. As beautiful and charming as they all were though, none of them meant anything more to me than a few days’ worth of distraction.

Nothing of any real import happened for several years.

I know that I am trying to delay writing the next part of my tale. My hands shake as I sit here, pen hovering above the page. I wish that I could blame it on rough seas, but we have been travelling in smooth waters for days now.

I think I shall leave the next part of my tale until tomorrow. Hopefully then I will have summoned the fortitude I require, and my hands will not shake so badly.


	4. 21st July 1757

21st July 1757

I suppose I can delay this no longer.

I have found plenty of excuses to put off writing this part of my tale, as it is still difficult to remember what happened without being overtaken by fear and grief. And yet I must record this part of my tale if I am ever to reach the rest. One day of delaying has turned into two and two into three, and in the end I was not the one who forced myself to put pen to paper once more. Instead it was my first mate Gist.

I was assisting some of the men with cannon maintenance, not really a task that a Captain of a ship the size of the Morrigan should be seeing too, when Gist approached me and asked if he could speak to me in private. We soon found ourselves in the privacy of my cabin.

“So Captain,” he said to me. “I take it you’ve finished writing whatever masterpiece has so consumed you over the past few days?”

I feigned ignorance. Gist had certainly surpassed me with his chosen topic of conversation. Up until that precise moment I had no idea that he knew I was writing this journal. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised. The man is far craftier than he chooses to appear.

“Whatever it was, you were tucked away working on it for hours,” Gist continued. The way he looked at me, I could tell he knew there was more to it. “So I can only assume you have finished it. Or is it perhaps that you have lost your inspiration.”

This was at least closer to the truth, and my manner must have revealed it.

“Could I assist in any way?” Gist asked me.

I found my eyes darting over to this journal, where it lay closed on my desk. I don’t think Gist knows about my past with the Assassins, but if he was to read this journal then he would discover the truth immediately, and I am not sure how he would react.

“I think I’m fine Gist,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me then, his scrutiny piercing me just as surely as any blade. The truth is that I have been something of a wreck over the past few days. I was a fool to think that Gist wouldn’t notice it, or that he wouldn’t realise something was wrong.

Eventually Gist let out a loud sigh, and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“It is clear to me that something is bothering you Shay,” he said, “but if you don’t want to talk about it then I certainly won’t make you.”

He made to leave the cabin then, but paused before he reached the door.

“However,” he added. “You should know that I am here if you ever wish to talk to someone.”

And so I am here, sitting at my desk and writing once more. I may not have talked to Gist; at least not in the way he was anticipating, but his talking to me did, in some small way, make a difference.

* * *

The next part of my tale, the part that I have so dreaded writing, takes place in the autumn of 1747. The Cyrene was on its way back to New York after a successful voyage. We had been away from the colonies for almost a full half year at this stage, and I think we were all eager for a few days on dry land.

We were only a day or so out from port when the weather unexpectedly turned foul. There was nothing for it but to press on and hope that we made it to New York before things grew too bad. The rain fell so heavily that we could barely see a hundred feet in front of us, and the dark clouds above made accurate navigation completely impossible. When the wind whipped itself into a frenzy fierce enough to topple trees it was all that we could do to keep the Cyrene under control.

We struggled against the howling winds and cold, stinging rain for hours. My father and Davies alternated between yelling urgent orders and trying to encourage us with reminders that once we got through the storm we would be safe in New York, and free to spend our pay in whatever way we saw fit. I’m sure the promise of a warm ale and warm arms did a lot for some of the men, but I think for the most part all we wanted to make it through the night in one piece.

By the time we realised we had been turned around in the storm it was too late. We had ended up further south than we meant to, and the coast there was marked by rocky cliff-faces and hidden shoals. The wind was already pushing us towards one such cluster of sharp rocks, and soon it became clear that if we didn’t find a way to turn the Cyrene around, she would end up smashed to a thousand pieces on the rocks, and we would all be smashed on the rocks with her, or would drown and fall to the bottom of the ocean.

When things started to look particularly dire my father tried to convince me to take refuge in his cabin, but I wasn’t having any of it, not when I could be out on deck, helping the rest of the crew fight the storm.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the found of the men crying out as the Cyrene smashed against the cliff-side. My father’s beautiful ship warped and moaned as her wood tore and splintered, almost as though she too was crying out in fear. The impact threw men into the air and over the side as though they were no more than a child’s ragdoll. I think those of us left on the Cyrene all knew right away that there was no point in trying to save them, or the ship. We were going down, and it was all any of us could do to try and survive.

My father called for everyone to abandon ship. I remember wondering why Davies wasn’t relaying the captain’s orders as he usually would. It took me a while to realize that he had been one of the men that had been lost to the waves in the initial crash.

Some of the men managed to leap or climb onto the nearby rocks or cliff-face. A couple of them were pulled back into the water as soon as the next large wave washed over them. As for me, I headed straight for my father, determined that I would at least find a way for him to survive. After all, I had saved his life once before. Surely I could do so again. This storm couldn’t be a more dangerous opponent than the pirate captain I had killed.

My father’s eyes went wide as soon as he saw me approaching. The Cyrene had been washed back out a little, but she was rapidly taking on water and sinking fast. All it would take was another large wave smashing her against the rocks to complete the destruction and turn my father’s beautiful ship into nothing more than a pile of flotsam.

“What the bloody hell are you doing Shay!?” my father screamed at me, his hands still holding tightly to the wheel, despite the fact that he clearly wasn’t going to be able to save the Cyrene. “Get yourself overboard now while there’s still a chance. Swim for shore Shay. You can still make it!”

“I’m not leaving without you!” I screamed over the sound of the storm and the waves.

He glanced around us, at the other men who were all doing whatever they thought would help them to survive, and then nodded. This time when I grabbed him by the sleeve he followed after me, and we jumped into the ocean together on the side of the Cyrene that faced away from the cliffs.

My plan was to swim a short way down the coast, and find a spot without so many sharp rocks, where it would hopefully be easier for us to climb onto dry land. My father and I were both strong swimmers. I was sure that we could make. However, the waves proved to be too strong, the storm too fierce, and we had only been in the water for a few seconds when we were torn apart.

The waves tossed me around mercilessly. I tried calling out for my father, and tried to spot him among the churning waves and wreckage of the Cyrene, but I had no luck. It took everything I had just to stay afloat. What followed after that was pure chaos; cold water tossing me backwards and forwards, and even colder rain lashing against my face whenever I did manage to surface. The night and the ocean both were as dark as the pit.

Despite my best efforts to avoid the cliffs and sharp rocks, my body slammed against them at least once. Or perhaps it was the remains of the Cyrene that I hit. I cannot be sure.

I think at some stage I must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I remember clearly was waking up on relatively dry land and coughing up a lungful of seawater. The sea’s currents had pushed me further north, along with a lot of flotsam from the destroyed ship and several other members of the crew.

Only a handful of men had made it ashore, and even they looked half-drowned and sported plenty of fresh injuries.

The sun mocked us by shining down bright and hot that morning, and I soon found myself wandering along the shore, searching for any sign of further survivors.

I hoped that perhaps I might find my father or Davies. There was no sign of the ship’s first mate however, and when I did find my father it was far too late for me to be of any help. His skin was ghostly white and cold to the touch, and his clothing was torn and blood-stained from, I could only assume, hitting the same rocky cliff-faces that had claimed the Cyrene.

I screamed and clung to my father’s corpse, hoping that somehow I might be able to bring him back to life, but of course nothing would work. After several hours of sobbing and screaming the other survivors finally managed to pry me away from my father, and we got to work giving those whose bodies we had been able to find a proper burial.

After that the survivors salvaged what we could from what had washed up on shore. There wasn’t much, but one of the men managed to find some rations that weren’t too waterlogged, and here and there we managed to find something that might be of some small use; a sword, some cloth or some coin. I stayed at it longer than most. I hoped and prayed that I would be able to find the sword that my father had given me. It wasn’t worth much, but if I could just find that sword then it would be as though I still had some small part of him with me.

By the time the sun had set I had been forced to accept the fact that the sword now lay at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, lost forever, just like my father’s ship.

My search did reveal one small treasure. An assortment of items from my father’s study had washed up along one section of shore; including some of his charts, which were a little smudged and worse for wear, but still usable. A couple of the other survivors quickly swiped these up, knowing that they might be of some use if they were to continue their nautical careers, or would be able to be sold for a small amount of coin.

There, among all the charts and the wreckage, and against all the odds, I found the copy of Gulliver’s Travels that Liam had given me. I actually cried as I picked it up. Out of all the things that could have possibly survived, that damn book had actually made it through. Of course it was completely soaked, but I thought that with a bit of drying out it would soon be perfectly fine.

A couple of men had decided to make their way back to New York earlier in the afternoon, but the handful of us that were left there that night made a fire on the shore and we all curled up around it.

That night I lay curled up in front of the fire, my arms wrapped tightly around the book; the only thing of any worth that I had left in all the world, and stayed awake for far too long, staring at the remains of our fire and wondering what the hell I was going to do now that my father and the Cyrene were gone.

* * *

The next morning we all set out on foot for New York. Luckily we weren’t too far away, and it only took us two days’ walk to make it back to the edge of the city. We stayed together for only a short while; long enough only to discover that the Cyrene wasn’t the only ship that had been lost in the storm.

The good news was that there was plenty of work available now for those who wanted it; namely that of repairing other ships that had been damaged but had made it through, and reconstructing the parts of New York that had been affected. The crew of the Cyrene quickly lost sight of one another as the other survivors reconnected with family and old friends or found new work.

As for me it seemed as though my life had lost all meaning. For the longest time all that I had wanted was to join my father on board the Cyrene, then for the past few years I had been busy actually living that dream. What did I want now?

There was only one other person in the world that I cared for as much as I had my father, and he was still nowhere to be found. I made another half-hearted attempt to find Liam, asking Father Connelly and the few other friends whether they might have seen him at all over the last couple of years.

My search was just as fruitless as I had expected. A couple of people had heard rumours that he had been seen in Boston or Sleepy Hollow or Anticosti a few months back, or thought that they had caught a glimpse of him on the streets, but no-one could tell me anything for sure.

I briefly considered going to Boston, or Sleepy Hollow, or any one of a half-dozen places that had been mentioned, but then thought better of it. After all, when Liam had left he had made no indication that he wanted to keep in contact with me, or that he saw me as anything other than a nuisance. As far as I knew I was all alone in the world.

The survivors of the Cyrene had divided what money we could scrape together more or less evenly between us. A few days after we had returned to New York, once I had given up on my search for Liam, I took my share of the coin to the nearest public house and drank myself to oblivion.

I think I mentioned earlier that up until that moment all of my flirtations with women had remained relatively innocent. In the days following my father’s death however, I completely lost myself to drink, and when I came back to myself, I found I was lying in bed with a naked woman whose name I did not remember.

I didn’t know how long it had been since I had started drinking, but I had a terrible suspicion that it had been more than one night.

When the woman beside me woke up my dreams of my first intimate encounter with a woman being with one I loved were quickly dashed as I discovered that not only had I made love to a stranger, she was of a type who required payment for her affections.

The lady of the night bid me farewell none too gently, kicking me back out onto the street as soon as I had gathered all of my clothes and belongings together. My head ached, I could carry all of my earthly belongings in a simple rucksack, and I had just enough coin for some breakfast, which I promptly threw back up.

I am sorry to say that my fortunes did not improve too in any hurry. There was plenty of work to be had, either at the docks or helping with construction. I only took temporary jobs though, never settling in one place, and usually drinking half of my money away.

There were only a few reminders of the old days then. Every so often I would cross paths with one of the children I had known growing up, whether from my days on the streets or my time with Father Connelly. It was never the one person I wanted to see more than any other though; never Liam, who might as well have been dead to me. I never deliberately sought out my old friends either, or returned to Father Connelly’s church. Even if they had recognised and remembered me, I didn’t want them to see the sorry drunkard that I had become.

* * *

During those years there was one encounter of some interest, if only for how it affected later events. I had been sitting in an old tavern that wreaked of stale beer and vomit, drinking away a large portion of my most recent pay, when all of a sudden an angel walked into that awful place.

I didn’t notice her at first. Rather, I noticed all of the cheers and hollering of the other men around me. I do not think a more beautiful, or more finely dressed woman had ever stepped foot in that place. My eyes followed her as she strode towards the bar, although it was quite a while before I realised that I knew her.

“Lucy?” I called out. I barely recognised the girl who used to hang around me and the other boys on the streets. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, and at some stage in the last few years, someone had clearly insisted that she present herself as such.

She was wearing a dress that was probably worth as much as the tavern in which we stood, fabric the colour of the sky on a clear day and all covered in lace. When I close my eyes now I can still see her. She was the most beautiful thing I had seen in years.

She called out for the attention of the barmaid, and a hastily whispered conversation passed between the two of them.

“Lucy!” I called out again. “It’s me, Shay!”

I had already drunk far too much, and I am afraid that my words came out more than a little slurred. Lucy glanced over at me, her eyes narrowing. She was clearly trying to place me. I worried a little about what she would think. Lucy may have been happy enough slumming with the poorer children of New York, but surely she would take objection to someone as rough and drunk as I was that day addressing her as though we were still friends.

Then her eyes went wide and she gasped.

“Shay Cormac?” she asked, giving up on whatever conversation she had been having with the bar’s owner and slowly making her way over to me. The other men around me objected and cast a few none-too-friendly glances my way. I could tell what they were thinking. How did a drunken lout like myself know such a beautiful young woman of obvious social standing? What right did I have to talk to her?

“You do remember me,” I said with a grin.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked. She looked me up and down again and screwed up her nose. She may have been willing to acknowledge my existence, but she clearly found something lacking in my presentation. I certainly couldn’t blame her. I probably stank as bad as the tavern did.

I held up a mostly empty mug as though that would explain everything she needed to know. In response she frowned at me. She almost looked genuinely saddened by my situation.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I told her. “Me, I spend an awful lot of time here these days, but you…”

I gestured towards her with the mug.

“You don’t belong here,” I told her. I did not mean to sound so unfriendly. I merely meant to say that it was awful there, and dangerous, full of drunken ruffians like myself, while she was so much better than that, but drink has a way of making even the most eloquent gentleman sound a fool.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and frowned at me.

“That’s what the others always told me,” she snapped at me, “but I thought you were different Shay Cormac. I have as much right to be here as you.”

“Oh come on Lucy,” I groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” she asked.

“It’s not safe for you here,” I tried again.

She sighed, and then leaned back against a relatively clean patch of bar next to me. I would have stood up and offered her my own chair, if I wasn’t worried about how dirty it was. The whole place was filthy. Far too filthy for Lucy and the fine lace on her dress.

“Seriously though,” I tried again. “What are you doing here Lucy?”

She glanced over at me again with her lips pursed, and I could tell that she was thinking hard about something, probably whether or not she could confide in me. Soon she started glancing around the room, before setting me with a very serious stare.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you here,” she told me. “Come by the house this afternoon and we can talk about it. You might be able to help me with something.”

She then strode out of the bar without another word.

I tried to call out after her, but she was long gone. She had forgotten something very important. I may have known her for years, but while I knew the family name, I had absolutely no idea where they lived.

* * *

Luckily the Forresters, were well enough known that I was able to ask after them. I was eventually pointed towards a north-eastern corner of New York. The Forresters house lay on the outskirts of the city, where one could still see the sprawling plains and trees of the wilderness that lay beyond the borders of the city.

It had been the middle of the day when Lucy had found me. By the time I made my way to her family home it was late in the afternoon. I would have liked to have been able to clean myself up before presenting myself to her, but I hadn’t had the time. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to clean up my hair and clothing as much as possible, but I knew that I still looked a fright; definitely not the sort of young man that should have been calling upon Miss Lucinda. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to present myself to either of her parents.

The house itself was a grand, sprawling thing with a lovingly tended garden full of rose bushes and apple trees. The Forresters had been rich even before the family had moved over from London several generations back, the lure of excitement and the promise of adventure being enough for Lucinda’s ancestors to take a chance on the new world. It was a risk that had paid off. They now owned several plantations and shipping companies, including one that I had done quite a bit of work for over the past few years.

I was nervous when I knocked on the front door. When an immaculately presented servant answered, he looked down his nose at me and treated me with obvious disdain.

“I’m here to see Miss Lucinda Forrester,” I told the servant, who did not look at all impressed. “I’m an old friend; Shay Cormac. Can you tell her I’ve arrived?”

I am sure that I still wreaked of booze and was absolutely filthy by the standards of that servant. I don’t blame him for not wanting to let me in. Thankfully Lucy appeared right at that moment to save me.

“Is that you Shay?” she called out from somewhere behind the servant.

She pushed past him, and immediately smiled when she saw me.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “I was beginning to worry that you weren’t going to show.”

It wasn’t as though I had anything better to do, and besides, if an old friend like Lucy needed my help, then you could be sure that I was going to at least try to help, regardless of how far I had fallen.

“Come Shay,” she said, taking my arm before I could object and practically dragging me away from the front door and the watchful eyes of her family’s servant. “Let us take a walk in the gardens.”

I could feel the eyes of the older servant on the two of us as we walked away, and could tell that he disapproved. Who knew what the two of us might get up to away from his watchful gaze? He shouldn’t have worried. I wasn’t a fool. I knew that I didn’t stand a chance with Lucy, and besides, I had heard enough about her father to realise that if he got wind of the two of us spending time together he would undoubtedly skin me alive, no matter that my intentions towards his daughter were nothing but pure.

When we were a decent distance into the garden, and well and truly away from the eyes of the servant, I disentangled Lucy’s arm from my own.

“Lucy,” I asked her, “are you going to tell me what this is all about? What the hell were you doing this afternoon?”

“I was looking for my brother,” she told me.

The two of us came to a stop, and she moved to sit on a nearby bench. She patted the empty space beside her, and I moved to join her in sitting down.

“And what makes you think that he might have been found in a place like that?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I had to start somewhere. He’s gotten himself involved in something awful Shay. I just know it.”

With that she slowly started to tell me the whole sordid tale. A few months earlier her older brother William had been approached by a couple gentlemen that wanted him to work with them. Since then he had been spending more and more time away from the family, and disappeared with his new friends for days, sometimes weeks at a time. William refused to tell anyone what sort of work he was doing for the gentlemen, but he had taken to carrying swords and pistols on his person wherever he went. Lucinda’s father had attempted to talk to him about it more than once, but William always stayed silent, no matter how Lucinda and her family pleaded with him.

“Mother and Father are both worried that whatever William is doing is probably criminal, and would bring shame upon the Forrester name, but I am far more worried about how dangerous it is,” Lucy continued to tell me. By this stage in her story she had come close to tears. “The last time he came home with three broken figures and bruises all over his face. Oh Shay, I’m so afraid that he’s going to get himself killed.”

I wasn’t sure how Lucy thought I would be able to help. After all, I might have spent plenty of time with her when we were both children, but I had only ever seen the briefest glimpses of her older brother. Nevertheless I made her give me a detailed description of him, and promised to let her know if I heard anything about him.

“Thank you so much Shay,” she told me, before throwing her arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. “My parents wouldn’t listen to my fears, and I didn’t know who else I could turn to.”

I was hesitant to return the embrace, and instead simply patted her back a couple of times, before we pulled apart rather awkwardly.

We only had a few more minutes during which we were allowed to talk to one another, before I was chased off by Lucinda’s family. The meddling servant that I had met at the door had feared for Lucinda’s well-being and had sent the groundsman to check on us, where he was witness to the incredibly scandalous sight of Lucinda embracing me.

I was told that I was never allowed to return to the Forrester estate, and they threw in a few none-too-subtle death threats for good measure.

At least I had discovered what it was that had brought Lucy to my part of town. I hoped that I would be able to help her.

* * *

I would like to say that I put everything that I had into finding William Forrester; that I did not rest until the young man was found and the mystery solved, but that would be far from the truth. In reality I spent the next couple of days asking around after him, but soon I had to get back to work; to earning my coin just so that I could drink it away again, and before long I had forgotten all about Lucy and her missing brother.

Oh, I am sure that if our paths crossed then I would have recognised him and told him to get his act together and stop making his sister worry, but as it was I returned to my old routine, and did not see Lucy again for several years, and by then it was far too late.


	5. 22nd July 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have work commitments next weekend, so I'll probably be taking a week off from posting this. Myself and Shay will be back in two weeks though. I promise. Also, Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate it! :D

22nd July 1757

It was 1748, and life had brought me to a public house on the outskirts of Boston. I barely remember what had brought me there; some combination of chasing a skirt that I only spent a couple of weeks with, and a job that paid me just enough to keep up my drinking habits. It was about as normal and insignificant as any public house could be, but, by god in heaven, I will never forget what happened within that place.

I was already a couple of drinks down, and had discovered that my flagon of ale was unfortunately empty. It was late in the afternoon, and the public house was full of men who had just finished their work for the day. Some of them were just after a bit of peace and quiet, and a nice, refreshing mug of ale, but others, myself unfortunately included, were also looking for a way to blow off a bit of steam.

I called out to the bartender, asking for a refill. My voice was apparently loud enough to be heard over the general chatter of the place, and after I finished speaking to the bartender, I became aware of someone passing behind me; a man who thought it worthwhile to comment loudly about me to a couple of his friends.

I don’t even remember what the blighter said. What I do remember was that it had a lot to do with me being Irish and was not in the least bit complimentary.

Of course it wasn’t the first time someone had mocked me for my accent and my obviously Irish ancestry. Being an Irish settler in New York is a sure way to make a few enemies, and you soon learn to ignore most of it or get your teeth kicked in, but on that night, I was already half seas over and looking for a fight. It didn’t matter than I’d never seen the man before, or that he had entered the public house with two men who were substantially taller and more broad-shouldered than myself, meaning I had absolutely no chance of winning any fight I might start.

I got to my feet, slamming my empty flagon down on the bench behind me.

“I’m a little hard of hearing,” I told the stranger. “You mind repeating that a bit louder friend?”

“What have we got here boys?” the leader of the group said, gesturing at me as though I was some sort of curiosity. At this stage my hands were already clenched into fists at my side, but still this stranger felt the need to continue.

“Looks like the little drunken paddywhack has some fire in him boys,” the leader continued. He smiled at me, and I could see that he was missing quite a few of his teeth. “Listen here mate. You have to know picking a fight with us ain’t gonna end well. Sit your lazy, drunken ass back down on that chair, or my boys and I will take you out into the gutter where you belong and give you a right thrashin’.”

Well of course I wasn’t going to stand for that.

“Come on then,” I said, bringing my fists up in front of my face. “Just try it, and then we’ll see who ends up in the gutter.”

The three of them all charged me at the same time. I was able to duck beneath a blow that one of the larger ones had aimed at my jaw, but then the group’s leader sucker-punched me right in the gut. I doubled over in pain. One of them grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back, while the other readied himself to land a few more punches to my stomach.

I yanked my head around and sank my teeth into the arm of the blighter who was holding me, hard enough that I tasted blood. My captor let out a satisfying scream and let go of my hair, only for his hand to grip tightly around my arm before I could escape.

The other two tried to grab hold of my legs, but I kicked and thrashed and made their job as difficult as I possibly could. One of my feet connected with the leader’s nose. I felt it give way beneath the thick sole of my boot, and the man cursed as blood started to stream from his nose.

We were starting to attract an audience. A couple of the pub’s patrons had started to cheer one or other of us on, and a few more of them were muttering something about going to fetch some guards in order to break us up. Not a one of them stepped in to stop us however, or even ran to fetch the guards.

The man with the broken nose cursed me loudly and clutched at his now broken face.

“That’s it!” he screamed. “I’m going to bloody kill you.”

He then launched himself at me, his hands still covered in his own blood, and successfully landed a couple of powerful punches to my face. Both of my arms were now being held back by his friend, leaving me almost completely helpless. I tried to struggle, to kick them or break the larger man’s hold on me, but it was to no avail. It looked like they were going to drag me out into the gutter after all, and considering how much I had angered the other men, I would be lucky to survive.

And it was at that moment, in a little, out-of-the-way public house on the outskirts of Boston, that my life was changed forever.

“Three on one?” a man’s voice asked. I didn’t recognise the voice at first, but the newcomer was unmistakably Irish, and therefore a potential ally.

“That doesn’t seem very sporting now, does it?” the newcomer continued.

“Bloody hell,” said the bruiser who wasn’t busy holding me, as he stepped up to stand face to face with the stranger. “The little drunk’s got hisself a friend.”

“You lookin’ to join your mate in the gutter?” the man with the bloodied nose asked, as he also stepped closer to my saviour, cracking his knuckles as he did. “You paddywhacks sure are gluttons for punishment, aren’t you?”

My saviour turned his head a little bit and smiled at the group’s leader. His grin was confident, showing a surety and courage that I certainly wasn’t feeling. He winked at me, and it was in that moment that I recognised my dear old friend.

“Liam!” I cried out, overjoyed to see him.

“Figures I’d find you in a mess like this,” Liam said. “You never did work out how to pick your fights, did you Shay?”

Liam had grown a few inches, and not only in height. His shoulders were much broader and his arms were more muscular than I remembered them being. He had also taken to shaving his hair so close to his head that it was barely there at all, but I still recognised my childhood friend.

Liam adjusted his stance and brought his fists up in front of his face. He eyed one of the men and then the other.

Luckily one of the larger men was still busy holding me. His attention seemed to be on Liam and his two compatriots though, his grip on me slackening, and I waited until Liam and his two opponents were engaged in a fast, fierce bought of fisticuffs, before I threw my head back, slamming it against my captor’s face.

The man screamed and let go of me. I grinned in triumph and turned around, bringing my own fists up, ready for the next round. Now that Liam was here I actually stood a chance.

The large man who had been holding me clutched at the broken, bloodied ruins of his nose. That made it two broken noses in one fight, and I smiled triumphantly.

I barely gave him time to recover before I was flying at him, my fist aimed squarely at his jaw. The punch hit, but the man was as solid as a rock, the punch probably doing more damage to my hand than it did to his face. It would take a lot more than one hit to take him down.

Meanwhile Liam was more than holding his own against the other two. He was smiling the whole time, almost as though he was playing with his two opponents.

Eventually the two of us ended up back to back as the three thugs advanced on us from all sides.

I picked up the nearest bottle and smashed it against a table. It wasn’t as though anyone was going to be using it any time soon. What patrons hadn’t fled the pub entirely had moved to the corners of the room, giving the five of us a wide berth and cheering us on.

Liam glanced at my makeshift weapon.

“Don’t kill ‘em Shay,” he muttered to me.

“I won’t,” I promised him. “Although I might leave one of them with a pretty scar to remember me by.”

The three men charged us all at the same time. The large one headed straight for me, apparently unafraid of the makeshift weapon I wielded. I had honestly hoped the broken bottle would serve as an excellent deterrent, but as it looked as though this was not going to be the case, I slashed at his face as he charged towards me, leaving a long gash on one of his cheeks.

He howled at me, and slammed one of his fists into my jaw. He tried to hit me again, but this time I ducked beneath the blow. He might have been large, but even half-drunk I was much faster and more agile. I spun around behind him and smashed the remains of the bottle against the back of his head.

It wasn’t enough to take him down, but it was enough to make him scream and stumble to his knees. While he was vulnerable I leapt onto his back and wrapped my arms around him in a choke hold.

I called out to Liam, who had just finished taking care of the larger of his two opponents. He grinned at me and ran over just as my opponent stumbled upright once more. I clung on for dear life, my arms constricting against his neck, and hoping that the lack of air would see him falling to the ground soon. The larger man clutched at my arms, trying to remove them, and flailed about in an attempt to throw me off.

He was so busy trying to get rid of me that he was barely aware of Liam, who leapt up and punched him straight in the face with his right fist, making him lurch sideways. A follow-up punch from Liam’s left saw him stumbling back the other way. Liam landed another right hook, and between the punches and my arms around his throat, the other man soon fell to the ground.

I detached myself from his back, and, rather unsteadily, got back to my feet. Holding onto the larger man had been like riding a bucking nag, and while I have excellent sea legs, I have never had much luck with horses.

Liam and I turned to face the one man that still remained standing. We glanced at one another, and I found myself smiling widely. Liam smiled back, and then we both turned to stare at our now lone opponent.

The remaining man glanced at the two of us, and then at his two fallen comrades, and then, before we could take more than a single step each towards him, he turned tail and ran out of the public house as fast as his legs could carry him.

I turned my attention back to Liam, who was still smiling as widely as I was. I think he was about to say something, but before a single word could leave his mouth I had wrapped my arms around him and grabbed him in a fierce embrace.

In that moment I didn’t care that he had left me. I didn’t care that it had been years since we had seen once another. All that mattered was that I had found Liam once again, and that he was alive and whole. On top of that he had come to my rescue. I don’t think I could have been happier to see my old friend.

After a few seconds in which I suppose Liam had been too startled to do anything, he reached up with both hands and returned the embrace for a moment before thumping me on the back, prompting me to let him go.

He gestured at the mess around us; at the tables and chairs that had been knocked over, and the glass that had been shattered. The owner of the public house was staring at us with his arms crossed and a none too friendly expression on his face.

“I don’t think we’re welcome here anymore Shay,” Liam said.

He quickly made his way over to the publican and passed him a handful of coins to pay for the damage we had caused, and then the two of us quickly removed ourselves from the public house before there could be any more trouble.

* * *

For a while we just walked. I had no idea whether or not Liam had any sort of destination in mind, but I followed him regardless. For the first little while we talked about nothing, our humours and heartbeats both still raised thanks to the fight.

After a few minutes of walking Liam looked over at me and grinned.

“So Shay,” he asked me, “do you still know your way around a city?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant, and was about to tell him that I was still relatively new to Boston when he turned into an alleyway and began to scramble up the side of the nearest building. He was fast; faster than I thought I could possibly be, despite my years climbing the Cyrene’s riggings. I followed him as best as I could as he began to leap from building to building. Before long we were sitting on top of what I thought might have been the public house that we had left in disarray just minutes earlier.

Our new perch gave us an excellent view of both Boston and the stars above us. It put me in mind of when we were children, and the two of us would often find ourselves lingering on rooftops and staring at the sky above us.

For a moment it almost seemed as though the years we had spent apart had never existed. I could only forget those years for so long though, and soon enough the need to break the silence and peace that had settled between us became too urgent.

“Not that I’m not incredibly grateful to see you Liam, but what the hell where you doing in there?” I asked as the two of us stared up at the stars. A very hopeful, naïve part of me wondered if perhaps Liam had heard that I was in the area and had deliberately sought me out.

“I was following Joseph and his friends,” Liam explained, disappointing me, but only a little. After all, who cared why Liam’s path had crossed with my own once more. All that mattered was that it had.

“Those three had been prowling around for a while now,” Liam continued. “They’re trouble at the best of times, so I knew they’d be looking for a fight. I’m really glad I decided to follow them now.”

He smiled at me, but it wasn’t the brash, cocky grin he had displayed earlier in the public house. Instead his smile almost looked sad.

“How are you doing Shay?” he asked. From the tone of his voice and the way I could see him carefully assessing the state of my clothing, I could tell that he knew already. No-one could have looked at me then, with my unshaven face and dishevelled clothes and not known that they were looking at a man who was down on his luck.

I took a deep breath, and found that I had no idea what to say.

“The Cyrene is gone,” my mouth said, seemingly without the input of my brain. “My father and most of her crew are dead.”

“Oh my god Shay,” Liam said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He squeezed my shoulder tightly, and that was it. That was all it took before the entire tale was spilling out of my mouth in a garbled mess. Of course I knew that Liam had also lost his father, and surely that meant he might know some way to lessen the grief, but he said nothing about his own struggles that night; simply asked me questions every so often (what had happened to the other survivors, whether I had a job and place to sleep) and comforted me as best as he could.

I hadn’t cried since the night my father had died, but on that night, sitting on that hill with Liam, I clung to him and buried my head in his shoulder and cried until I had no tears left to shed.

I feel myself choking up again now just thinking back on that night. My current sorrow has little to do with my father’s death however, and more to do with the loss of one who I considered a friend for so very long.

My hand has started to shake. No doubt it is noticeable in how messy my writing has become. I think I need to stop for now, despite the brevity of my entry today. I shall continue writing tomorrow.


	6. 23rd July 1757

23rd July 1757

There are times when I still find myself missing Liam. I wonder what he would think of the Morrigan now, and whether, if things had gone differently, he would still wish to stand beside me on the deck as First Mate.

Please do not misunderstand my meaning; Gist is as grand a first mate and as good a friend as any man could ask for, but he and Liam are so different in temperament that I often find myself comparing the two, thinking ‘Liam would have probably done this differently’ or else I start wondering whether Gist would be as kind and supportive as Liam was if I was to break down in his arms.

Now that I find myself thinking on it, I can only come to the conclusion that breaking down like that in front of Gist would lead to him teasing me incessantly. Gist would never let me forget such a show of weakness.

Liam never called me out on my behaviour that night however. He would often tease me about a myriad of things, but my grieving or showing weakness in front of him was never one of them.

After we reunited Liam did everything he could to get me back on my feet. I had been planning to sleep in a common house down near the docks, but instead my old friend paid for a room in a hostel for the both of us.

After that Liam kept as close an eye on me as he could. Occasionally he would disappear for days or weeks at a time. He would never tell me where he went, but always promised to return sooner or later, and always kept his word.

After pondering on the matter for a while I came to the assumption that my friend was probably sneaking off to visit a woman, so I didn’t pry too much. Either the relationship was too scandalous for me to know about, or the lady in question was one of high standing and Liam did not consider me respectable enough to introduce to her. Either way, if the woman was important to Liam then I was sure that he would get around to introducing the two of us eventually, even if it was only at their bloody wedding.

As for myself, I was doing much better now that I had some sort of hope and safe port in my life.

It was easier to resist the call of liquor now, but I was still rather directionless. I had no plans for my future, and I had been drifting from job to job for a while, so I had no real job prospects to speak of either.

For a while I thought about signing up on another boat and returning to life on the sea, but that would mean leaving Liam behind, and I didn’t want to risk losing him again. Instead I continued to work odd jobs around the city, helping with cargo at the Boston docks or as an unskilled labourer for anyone who would hire me.

A few months after our unexpected reunion, Liam approached me one night and invited me out to dinner. The dinner in question wasn’t anything special, just a drink and bit of roast at one of the local public houses, but Liam was so excited that I could tell the occasion was a special one.

I had no idea what was going on, but it seemed as though Liam could not stop smiling for the life of him. Clearly something wonderful had happened, but I was completely clueless as to what it might be.

“Shay,” Liam began, once dinner was finished and we were each on our second flagon of ale. “I have a proposition for you.”

“What sort of proposition?” I asked. I glanced around the rest of the room, suddenly nervous about the legitimacy of my friend’s request. Liam had lead me to a table that was tucked away in a corner of the public house, as secluded and far away from prying eyes as it was possible to be.

“You’ve probably been wondering where I keep sneaking off to,” Liam began.

I nodded, and found myself smiling. ‘Yes,’ I thought. Liam was finally going to tell me about his mystery woman.

“The truth is Shay,” Liam continued slowly, “I am part of an ancient, noble brotherhood that has been watching over mankind for hundreds of years.”

It was not at all what I had expected to hear, and for a moment I thought that Liam must have been pulling my leg.

“We call ourselves Assassins,” Liam continued, not showing any sign that he was anything but completely sincere. “I am an Assassin.”

“Of course you are,” I replied. I really had no idea what to make of Liam’s confession.

“I’m being bloody serious,” Liam said. His tone might have lead me to believe that he was snapping at me, if it wasn’t for the wide grin that he wore. “I’m an Assassin, a member of the recently founded Colonial Brotherhood. We’ve been doing good work Shay, and I want you to be a part of it.”

I remember being even more stunned by Liam’s invitation than by the confession itself. If what Liam was saying was true, then this Brotherhood of Assassins sounded as though they did incredibly important work. I wasn’t sure that I was even qualified to know about their existence, let alone to join the ranks of their Brotherhood.

“You want me to…” I couldn’t even finish the bloody sentence. I found myself glancing around the room, suddenly paranoid that someone might be listening to us.

“I talked to my Mentor, Achilles Davenport, and he gave me permission to approach you about it,” Liam told me. “He said that any friend of mine was welcome in the Brotherhood.”

“Are you offering me a job?”

“In a way, although it’s so much more than that Shay. I’m offering you a new life; a chance to really make a difference,” Liam told me. I think he could tell that I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic. Of course, any position that allowed me to stay close to my beloved friend was immediately one worth considering, and in those days I would have followed Liam into the fires of hell itself if he had asked me, but the whole situation was so unexpected and seemed so bizarre to me then that I didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to make up your mind right away,” Liam told me. “Tomorrow I’ll be travelling to the Homestead, where we’re based. You can accompany me if you like. It will give you a chance to meet the rest of the team. Perhaps they can help you decide.”

After that he swore me to secrecy, a request which I had anticipated considering the topic of our conversation. Even if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have dared breath a word of what we had discussed, not only out of respect for my friend, but for fear of retribution from Liam’s friends. They called themselves _Assassins_ after all.

Liam retired a little while after that, and I found myself wandering the streets and thinking about what he had offered me. Liam had told me a little about the Assassins and their ideologies before we had parted ways. To be honest I didn’t really care about much of it. Freedom sounded like a worthwhile enough goal, but I had been pretty free for most of my life, and I had made a right hash of it. I already knew that if I was to join the Assassin Brotherhood then it wouldn’t be because of their beliefs or mine, but because of Liam, because he seemed to believe in them with all of his heart, and because it would mean that I could stay by my dear friend’s side and hopefully make him proud.

By the time I returned to my hotel room later that evening I think I had already decided to join the Assassins, if only for Liam.

* * *

The next day we headed out. The homestead that Liam had spoken of was about a day’s ride outside of Boston. Neither of us owned a horse, and I had never learned to ride all that well, so we hired a cart to take us most of the way. We started out early, and when we finally arrived at the homestead the sun was just beginning to set.

The Davenport Homestead was situated on an absolutely beautiful patch of land. It was surrounded by dense woodlands, and situated far enough away from the busy streets of New York or Boston that it gave the Assassins the sort of privacy (and I suppose, defensibility) their work demanded. A small stream ran through the valley as well, providing the small settlement with fresh water. The patch of land also sat close enough to the ocean that a very short walk would take you to a cliff and the most beautiful view of the sea, and another short walk to the North of the homestead would take you to a small harbour, which was used almost exclusively by the Assassins and their allies.

At the centre of all of this stood one lone manor of modest size. This was where the Davenports themselves lived, and where Liam introduced me to the Mentor of the Colonial Assassins and the man who had been responsible for making Liam an Assassin; Achilles Davenport.

When I was introduced to Achilles I was surprised to recognise the dark-skinned man that I had once spotted with Liam in New York.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Shay,” Achilles said as he shook my hand. “Liam has told us all so much about you.”

“We’ve actually met before,” I told Achilles.

“Truly?” he replied, glancing between myself and Liam.

“It was only for a moment,” I added. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly as well.”

Despite the disadvantage of his race, Achilles had set up a magnificent home for himself and his family, and seemed like such a gentleman in both manner and dress that I suddenly wished that I had paid more attention to my own appearance before setting out with Liam.

After meeting the master of the house we were introduced to Achilles’ wife Abigail, and his son Connor. They both seemed well aware of Achilles’ work with the Brotherhood, and of my purpose in visiting the homestead. Abigail was perfectly friendly. Connor was polite, but it was clear that the young lad had something else on his mind; no doubt some grand adventure that his young mind had concocted.

Once my introduction to the Davenports was taken care of Liam and I set off on a walk through the land surrounding the manor. There was plenty of it, and various parts had been set up to assist the Assassins in training; agility courses, shooting ranges, and fields full of practise dummies dotted the landscape.

We approached a space where about half a dozen dummies had been set up around the area, some lingering under trees or near bushes, others right out in the open. Liam paused for a moment, his stance changing to one of readiness, and I could see him scanning the nearby area; for what I didn’t know, but I found myself glancing around nonetheless.

When I next glanced at Liam there was a woman standing behind him. I hadn’t seen or heard her move, and yet somehow she had managed to sneak up right behind Liam and twist one of his arms behind his back. Her hand moved so swiftly that I almost couldn’t follow her movements, and before I could do anything to assist my friend the woman was pressing a dagger to Liam’s neck.

I let out a cry of alarm, but Liam didn’t seem to be worried at all.

“You got me again,” Liam chuckled.

“Of course,” the woman practically purred in response. “You were distracted. You make it too easy sometimes.”

“I was distracted because I was looking for you,” Liam chuckled.

With that the woman removed the dagger from my friend’s throat and let go of him. She moved around to stand by Liam’s side and smiled over at me. She was one of the most beautiful women that I had ever seen, and yet she had just displayed such stealth and lethality that I had a hard time viewing her as anything but dangerous.

She was wearing a long, elaborate gown of pink and purple, and yet she had managed to sneak up on Liam so flawlessly. Her hair was a deep, rich shade of brown, and when her lips curved upwards in a smile that was probably supposed to be friendly but put me more in mind of a cat sizing up it’s prey, her eyes sparkled brilliantly in the crimson light of late afternoon.

“You must be Shay Cormac,” she said, stepping towards me and extending her hand. I took it warily, and discovered that her handshake was even firmer than Achilles’ had been. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” I asked, my manners having almost completely abandoned me. Whoever this woman was, Liam had never mentioned her.

“Indeed,” the woman replied. “Liam can barely stop talking about you.”

“I’m afraid that he’s never mentioned you,” I said as I bowed low, trying to make a good impression. “Although I can see why he’d want to keep you a secret.”

“Truly?” the woman replied, her eyebrows raising significantly. She glanced over at Liam with a smile, and then back at me.

“You did say he was a charmer,” she commented.

“All right you two,” Liam said, moving between us and gently pushing me away from his female companion.

“Shay, this is Hope Jensen,” he said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Hope,” I said, meaning it. Not only was she one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, she had managed to get the drop on Liam. That alone was enough to make me like her.

“Likewise,” she replied.

Any dreams that the two of us might become better acquainted quickly disappeared however as Liam’s hand landed, more than a little possessively, on Hope’s hip.

“You don’t mind if I talk to Hope in private for a bit, do you?” he asked me.

“Of course not,” I assured him. “I’m sure the two of you have all sorts of secret Assassin business to discuss.”

Before the two of them disappeared I winked at Liam. He just shook his head at me.

For all I know it could have just been Assassin business that the two of them discussed. Over the next few years I would come to learn that the two of them were nothing if not devoted to the Assassin cause.

There was always something between them though. I don’t know whether the other members of the Colonial Brotherhood knew about it, or whether the two of them ever actually did anything about their obvious attraction to one another, but from that first meeting I could tell that Liam cared about Hope as more than just a comrade, and that she held similar feelings for him as well.

Perhaps life as an Assassin is just not conducive to forging a romantic relationship. I can’t say that being a Templar has proved any different in that regard.

Liam and Hope returned after a short walk together, during which I had kept myself busy with inspecting the practise dummies. Liam and I bid farewell to Hope, and as we continued our tour around the homestead, Liam told me a little more about the female Assassin, and how she fit into the structure of the Brotherhood.

“Hope will probably be taking care of your stealth and poisons training,” Liam told me. “She’s a master of both. I’ll probably take care of firearms and general combat, although from what I’ve seen over the past few months you can definitely hold your own.”

“Kesegowaase isn’t at the homestead right now,” Liam continued as we walked. “He spends a lot of time away, developing our alliances with a lot of the native tribes, but when he’s here Achilles will probably have him help with your training as well. You’ll probably find he has a lot of knowledge to offer you.”

And then there was La Verendrye, or Captain Louis-Joseph Gaultier, Chevalier de la Vérendrye, as he was so fond of reminding us. Liam and I found him loitering on the other side of the Homestead. Chevalier de La Vérendrye had about half a dozen titles and came from a very prestigious family and he never let any of us forget it.

I think the man had made up his mind to hate me before he had even met me. Before Liam had even finished introductions the other man was looking me up and down without even the hint of a smile on his face, as though somehow I had personally offended him by daring to breathe the same air.

“Ah yes,” Chevalier said once Liam was finished. He finally smiled in my direction, although said smile was anything but friendly. “Liam told us that he would be bringing a friend. You think you have what it takes to become an Assassin, do you?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, wondering if this was some sort of test. Of course I knew right away that the man disliked me, but in those early days I thought that perhaps if I tried hard enough and proved myself to La Vérendrye then I might be able to win him over. I was wrong.

“I hope I do,” I added.

La Vérendrye smiled at me as though he was secretly imagining what my head would look like detached from the rest of my body.

“I sincerely doubt it,” he said. Liam frowned at La Vérendrye, but I don’t think the other man noticed or would have cared if he had.

La Vérendrye held out his hand, as though expecting me to shake it. I did, and made sure that my grip was firm, and that I kept his gaze.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” I told him.

“I suppose we shall,” he replied.

Whether he had intended to or not, La Vérendrye had laid down a challenge. I had never taken well to people doubting me, and suddenly I was desperate to prove him wrong; to prove that I could be a great Assassin, or at least a damn sight better Assassin than La Vérendrye was.

La Vérendrye smiled at me one last time before letting go of my hand. He nodded to Liam before departing without another word to either of us, but I could have sworn that I heard him cursing softly to himself in French as he wandered off.

“What the hell did I do to offend him?” I asked Liam once La Vérendrye was out of earshot.

“Buggered if I know,” Liam told me, before clapping a hand down on my shoulder.

“Come on,” he told me. “I think I can smell dinner cooking inside the manor.”

In all my years with the Colonial Brotherhood, I never did work out why La Vérendrye took such exception to my being there. Perhaps, with his being French and a staunch opponent to anything even remotely British, my being Irish American was somehow too close to British for his liking? Perhaps he resented the fact that I had received an invitation to join the Brotherhood not because of any sort of skill or feat on my part, but simply because of my bond with Liam? Perhaps it was because I was too brash. In those days I did tend to act first and think about the consequences later, and I suppose that La Vérendrye could have heard as much from Liam.

Regardless of the reason, the two of us never quite saw eye to eye. In fact, La Vérendrye seemed determined to stay hostile towards me, no matter how often I tried to extend my hand in friendship.

Dinner with the Davenport family was practically perfect. All of the Assassins were welcoming enough, and during dinner at least La Vérendrye kept his comments to himself.

Once the meal was over however things proved to be a little different. Hope, Liam and I had curled up in the sitting room together, and had been trading stories and laughing and generally enjoying ourselves for a while. I excused myself for a moment and headed outside.

My intention had been to return to Liam and Hope as soon as my business was attended to, but while returning through the house, I heard Achilles and La Vérendrye speaking. I would have ignored them, but then I realised that they were talking about me. Not only that, they were talking about me in very loud voices.

“Why are you allowing Liam to drag this little whelp into our fold? You think one of them is not enough?” came La Vérendrye’s voice. Clearly he was even less happy with my being there than I had expected.

“Liam vouches for him and has offered to take responsibility for Shay’s training and behaviour.”

At least Achilles seemed ready to stick up for me.

“Liam can actually handle himself in a fight. This younger one is completely untrained and untested, and he has no respect for authority. He will be useless.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that Liam will be in charge of his training then, and not you.”

“A good thing? You…”

La Vérendrye broke off into a string of French. I can only assume at least part of it was obscenities.

“If you gave Shay to me then at least I would be able to teach him a thing or two; beat the insolence out of him if necessary. Shay and Liam will only encourage one another.”

“We shall see,” Achilles replied. “Although I suspect that if Liam fails then there would be little point in anyone else training him. I have high hopes for him, even if Shay does not prove quite as much of an asset as Liam has led us to believe.”

I was beginning to feel that I had overheard far too much. Already the joyous excitement I had begun to feel at dinner was beginning to fade. I wanted to fit in with the Assassins and I wanted to make Liam proud, but I was beginning to suspect that it would not be nearly as easy as I had anticipated.


	7. 24th July 1757

24th July 1757

The very next day Liam and Achilles approached me and asked me whether I had made up my mind. I told them that I had. I held my chin high and announced that I wished to join their brotherhood, meaning it with all my heart. Liam and Achilles both smiled at me, and Liam’s smile at least made me think that I perhaps I had found a way to make him proud of me after all.

I thought that perhaps the three of us might sit down then, and I would finally learn what it was that would be expected of me as an Assassin. Liam had explained their creed and purpose to me reasonably well, but what it was that the Assassins actually did still eluded me.

I was not given any answers on that day either. Instead we launched straight into training. Liam took me to one of the fields full of dummies that we had passed through the previous day, and he set to work guiding me through a few basic exercises, in order to assess my current level of skill.

The next two weeks were a blur of activity. Liam helped me brush up on my swordplay and shooting.

For the first couple of days Hope, when she was seen at all, simply lingered near the two of us and watched us, but eventually she began to speak up, giving either Liam or I suggestions on how to improve. Liam’s body had grown in the years that we had been apart, and he was now exceptionally tall and broad-shouldered. My body had undergone similar changes of course, but I was still a bit smaller and more lithe than my older friend, and because of that Hope was able to show me a few tricks that Liam couldn’t make use of.

I used to think that it wouldn’t be long before I could best them both in combat, but as far as I know I have still not surpassed either of them. Perhaps, with enough training and hard work I might do so one day.

* * *

I had been with the Assassins for about a week when Hope woke me early one morning. The sun had barely begun to rise and I am afraid that I muttered some rather unflattering things before she roused me properly with a gentle kick to the gut.

“Come on sleepyhead,” Liam’s voice came from somewhere just above my head. He grabbed one of my arms and helped me hoist myself to my feet.

I had been an early riser during my days on board the Cyrene. My father had insisted upon it. I had, however, become used to sleeping in a little later, and my body was already tired from the days of training it had already been through, so it took quite a while for Liam and Hope to get me on my feet and ready to face whatever challenges lay in front of me.

“What are we doing up so early?” I asked as I trailed along behind the two of them. We had eaten a quick breakfast of oatcakes and had then immediately set out on foot, without either of them giving me even the slightest hint as to what we would be doing.

“Today is a special day Shay,” Liam told me, as though that explained everything.

“But where are we going?” I asked.

In response Hope pointed to a mountain in the distance. By my best estimate it would take us a couple of hours to arrive there on foot. I squinted as I tried to make out more about our destination. As far as I was aware there was nothing particularly interesting about the mountain Hope had singled out.

When the mountain gave me no clues I turned my attention to my two companions. Neither Liam nor Hope seemed to be carrying anything that revealed the purpose of our journey. They were both carrying blades but no pistols, so whatever we were doing was probably unlikely to include much in the way of fighting, and they were both dressed as they normally chose, with the exception of a small knapsack that Liam had added to his ensemble, and which I already knew contained a small amount of food and water, just enough to sustain the three of us for the rest of the day.

The thought occurred to me that perhaps this was some sort of survival training. After all, they had mentioned that it would be part of my training regime. Perhaps the two of them were going to lead me out into the woods where I was supposed to survive on my own or find my way back to the homestead without their help. I had yet to meet the man who was supposed to be in charge of this sort of training; perhaps we were going to meet him?

By midmorning we had reached the foot of the mountain, and up close it looked far more treacherous than I had first anticipated. The mountain’s face was made from jagged chunks of pale grey stone, broken up here and there by patches of whatever hardy plants had managed to grab a foothold. A waterfall cascaded down from somewhere high above, creating a large pool near the base of the mountain.

“Are we going to climb it?” I asked Hope and Liam. I glanced over the equipment that they had brought once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of some rope or climbing tools that I may have overlooked earlier.

“That’s the plan,” Liam told me. He dropped his knapsack on the ground beside us, and brought out the small lunch that we had packed.

We ate in relative silence and then, to my dismay, we left our packs behind.

“We’re not going to want those when we reach the top,” Liam told me. “Trust me; they’re only going to slow us down.”

So there was nothing in there that might help us with the climb; no hooks or rope. I stared back up at the mountain again. It looked as though I had a difficult afternoon ahead of me.

* * *

I needn’t have worried. While the mountain was by no means an easy one to conquer, Hope and Liam soon revealed their true purpose in having brought me so far from the homestead. Progress was slow, but as the three of us travelled Hope and Liam showed me how to climb and leap like a true Assassin.

I had thought that my time aboard the Cyrene would have taught me everything I would need to know about climbing, but that was far from the case. Even in her elaborate corset and skirt Hope would have left me in the dust if she and Liam hadn’t been so focussed on carefully and gently showing me how to reach every ledge and make every jump.

Now that I’m writing about it, a certain incident that occurred on that mountain comes to mind.

I did not realise it then, but in retrospect I can see that in those first few days Hope was keeping me at arm’s length. Don’t get me wrong. Unlike La Vérendrye she was perfectly kind to me. She was also perfectly professional, the smiles she directed towards me were always painfully false, and I could tell that she had yet to truly warm up to me. It was almost as though she was being kind to me for Liam’s sake only.

Our climb had brought us to a particularly large chasm. Liam demonstrated how I should leap over the gap first, leaving me standing on the other side with Hope. She started to point out certain things about how Liam had leapt, but then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere her topic of conversation swiftly changed.

“Liam is clearly very important to you,” she said. I stared at her, wondering what the female Assassin could be playing at.

“He’s like a brother to me,” I admitted. Then, when it didn’t look as though she was going to say anything else, I continued to speak. “He’s clearly very important to you as well.”

There was surely no way that Hope could have missed the innuendo in my voice.

“He is,” she admitted, smiling over at Liam where he stood watching us from the other side of the chasm, her manner not giving away anything more about how she might view her relationship with my friend.

For a moment we were both perfectly silent, and then when Hope began to speak once more, it was so she could tell me more about how the two of us were going to manage the leap across.

“Well then,” she said once she was finished with her explanation, brushing off her skirt before gesturing that I should make the next jump. “Considering our mutual regard for Master O’Brien, then I suppose we should ally in our efforts to watch over him and keep him safe.”

It almost seemed as though she was extending an olive branch, trying to find some sort of mutual ground on which we could agree. It was incredibly confusing. I was unaware that we had ever been at war. Hope always was a difficult one to understand however. It was possible that she hadn’t quite accepted me as being a part of their Assassin family until that exact moment.

I nodded.

“Thank you Mistress Hope,” I replied. “I do believe we shall.”

I then made the jump. I only just cleared the distance, and Liam had to drag me up to safety on the other side. Hope of course made the jump flawlessly, and then the three of us were on our way once more.

There were a few other near misses that day. There were a few times when it seemed as though one of us (usually me) was going to fall, but the others were always there to grab me and haul me back up, and together, we slowly but surely conquered every ledge on that mountain.

By the time we reached the top my entire body ached, although my shoulders had the worst of it. It was a deep, satisfying sort of ache however; a sort of ache that I hadn’t felt since I had been working my arse off on board the Cyrene.

And the view on top of that mountain was absolutely spectacular.

It wasn’t the tallest mountain in the area, but its position meant that we were afforded an excellent view of the Davenport homestead, and of the small port nearby and the sea beyond. If I turned my eyes to the north I could see New York as well, the city looking like no more than a tiny settlement in the distance.

“So are the two of you going to tell me what it is we’re doing up here?” I asked Hope and Liam once I had caught my breath. “I mean, the view is lovely, but the way you two were acting made me think there was something more to this.”

Liam and Hope just looked at one another and smiled. Without another word Liam started to walk towards the edge of a nearby cliff. A tree was hanging over the drop. It was a pathetic thing, halfway to falling, and barely large enough to support the weight of a fully grown man. Still, Liam climbed up onto it as though he didn’t have a single worry in the world, and then, slowly and carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he walked out as far as the tree could take him, and perched on the end, surveying the land around him and looking all the world like an eagle about to take flight.

Then, in a way, I suppose that he did. He got back to his feet in one swift movement that was as graceful as anything I had seen him or Hope do in the last few days, and spread his arms out wide on either side, so that his body formed an almost perfect cross.

He turned around just enough to give myself and Hope a wink and a smile, and then he leapt.

I cried out and ran after him. I arrived at the edge of the cliff just in time to watch him twist and turn in mid-air, and then fall into the water below with as small a splash as possible. For a long while I was afraid that he wasn’t going to surface; that his showing off had all been for naught and he had either killed himself or been horribly injured.

And then I spotted him, his head and shoulders having just broken the surface of the water. He let out a cry of joy and waved his arms up at Hope and me.

“Come on in you two!” he yelled. “The water’s lovely.”

I glanced over at Hope, barely able to believe what I had just witnessed. Sure, there had been plenty of water at the bottom to break Liam’s fall, but everything about his movements seemed so deliberate and calculated and fluid, and there was clearly some other significance to the act that I was missing.

“We call it the Leap of Faith,” Hope explained. “You will no doubt find many uses for it in your work for us, but over the years its true significance has come to be as an initiation rite. When you take that leap you are committing yourself, body and soul, to the Assassin cause. It used to be that your first Leap of Faith would be into nothing more than a bale of hay or a large pile of leaves, but we thought the water would be a little safer for now, at least until you get the hang of it. Here, I’ll show you how to move your body during the fall. With any luck the movements will come naturally to you.”

“Hasn’t Liam told you?” I said to Hope as she started to move my arms into the position she desired. “I make my own luck Mistress Hope.”

“Of course you do Shay,” Hope replied, with a wry grin on her face. “Which is why you’re going to practise this with water until your movements are completely perfect, before you use it out in the field, correct?”

Hope guided me through the motions, using her hands to twist my hips or adjust my stance. Her hands were warm, even through the thick fabric of my coat, and even though the many layers of her dress hid the subtleties of her own movements from me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. If I missed a single point of her instruction, it would have been my own blasted fault for letting my mind wander to places it most definitely shouldn’t.

She walked me through the movements as thoroughly as was possible while on solid land, and then, once she seemed satisfied, she walked over to the tree and performed the same leap that Liam had, albeit minus his smile and wink.

The fact that Hope had managed to climb the mountain in the many layers that she wore had impressed me. The fact that she was able to twist and turn so elegantly in mid-air while wearing them had me completely dumbfounded. She landed in the water with even less of a splash than Liam, and surfaced far quicker.

Liam had been treading water the entire time Hope had been tutoring me. Hope joined him, and the two of them began gesturing for me to perform my first Leap of Faith and join them in the water.

I stepped out onto the tree, terrified that it was going to break beneath my steps. I was sure that if it did break, if the Leap of Faith went wrong or if I sustained an injury, that Liam and Hope would do everything that they could to save me, but the last thing I wanted was to look like a fool in front of them.

My balance was, alas, not nearly as excellent as Liam’s or Hope’s had been, and I wobbled a little, but I eventually made it to the end. The wind suddenly felt stronger than it had before. I closed my eyes, spread my arms wide, and took a deep breath, before performing the Leap of Faith.

Calling it a leap is a little misleading. I have always found that it is more like letting yourself fall, and trusting that the gentle waves, or leaves, or whatever it is you are falling into, will protect you. I suppose that it is why it is called what it is. You must have faith that the world is on your side. I twisted around and curled my body up, just as Hope had instructed, and plunged back-first into the water below.

It stung. I won’t pretend that it didn’t, but the triumphant feeling of having successfully performed the Leap, and the loud congratulations of Liam and Hope swiftly banished any pain or cold I might have otherwise felt.

I don’t remember whether it was Liam or I that started splashing the other first, but soon we were playing around as though we were children once more, and by the time the three of us actually pulled ourselves out of the water we were all half-drowned and all the happier for it.

It was nearing night by the time we made it back to the Homestead. I was glad that it was not winter, because our wet clothes had already chilled us far more than was comfortable. By the time we spotted Achilles standing out front of the Homestead, we were all well and truly ready for the warm fire that we knew waited within.

The three of us ran towards our Mentor with wide smiles on our faces, and when I approached Achilles he looked almost as happy as the three of us. He was also wearing his formal Assassin attire; not something that happened very often, especially when he wasn’t on a mission.

“I take it everything went well?” he asked Liam.

“It did Mentor,” Liam replied.

The two men shook hands and then turned their attention towards me. Achilles always smiled at Liam. It was clear to me at least that he loved Liam as though he was his own son. I very rarely received the same sort of attention, or the same proud smiles that Liam did, but on that night Achilles directed a smile towards me; one that, to me, seemed far brighter than the sun.

“Then I suppose I should formally welcome you into the Assassins,” Achilles said to me.

Achilles reached into the folds of his robe, and pulled out something. At first I didn’t realise what it was, but then he gestured for me to come closer and take it, and I realised with no small amount of joy that he was presenting me with my hidden blade. I had no idea of the weapon’s true significance, but I did know that all of the other Assassins wore at least one wherever they went.

Achilles then had me recite the tenants of the Assassins Creed, and I promised to stay my blade from the flesh of the innocent, to hide in plain sight, and to never compromise the Assassin brotherhood. I think that I was just so excited to belong that in that moment I would have promised them all anything that they wanted me to.

I am slightly ashamed to look back on that night now and think of how I have broken those promises. I am not ashamed of why I did, and I am sure that I would make the same choice again, but sometimes I wish that events did not turn out the way that they have. I joined the Assassins so blindly, and without fully understanding their true purpose, or the things that they would come to ask of me.

Of course I knew that I would be killing for them, and when Achilles helped me to strap the hidden blade to my wrist I couldn’t help but smile, both at the thought of the power that I now wielded, and just because I was so happy to have been formally welcomed into the Brotherhood.

“So, I guess all that’s left is the uniform,” I joked with Liam once the blade was firmly strapped to my wrist, and Liam and Hope had shown me the basics of how to operate it.

“You’re wearing it now jackass,” Liam joked, grabbing my hood and pulling it rather roughly over my head.

While I would learn later that other Brotherhoods, especially those in Europe, tend to have at least something that vaguely resembles a uniform, each of the Colonial Assassins had their own unique look. While Achilles might have possessed something resembling formal Assassin robes, the only thing about our dress that marked the rest of us as Assassins at all was our hidden blades, and the fact that all of our outfits had hoods; great for hiding our faces when on missions, and, I have to say, a damn sight more subtle than some of the elaborate robes of older Brotherhoods that Liam and Achilles have shown me, if a lot less stylish.

That night was a night of celebration. My joy would have probably been enough to keep me warm all on its own, but the three of us were soon changed into warm clothes and had all but forgotten the cold walk back.

Abigail Davenport had prepared an amazing meal in honour of my being officially inducted. It was practically a feast, and the Davenports, myself, Hope and Liam all ate heartily and laughed. La Vérendrye was off on a mission, so even his sour demeanour could not ruin the night.

Things seemed to be looking up. I had a place where I could belong once more, and the chance to make a real difference.

I was such a fool; such a young, naïve fool.


	8. 24th July 1757

24th July 1757

After that day my true training began. Hope stepped up in her role as one of my tutors, and she and Liam together taught me that most vital of skills; how to take a life. I was shown how to stalk my prey, how to sneak up behind them and sink my hidden blade into the skin without ever being detected, where to aim in order to make the death as quick and efficient as possible, and how to hide the body once I was done.

My father had, of course, taught me how to fight, but never with the express purpose of taking a life as efficiently and cruelly as the Assassins would have me do.

And then there was Eagle Vision.

I hesitate to describe Eagle Vision on paper, because no matter how I write about it I feel as though anyone reading this journal will not believe me. To anyone who has not experienced the phenomenon of Eagle Vision for themselves it must sound like nothing more than a fantasy or a child’s daydream.

When Hope initially explained to me what it was, she reassured me that it would not be a problem if I failed to use it correctly. Apparently it is far easier for some people to use than others, and manifests slightly differently in different people, when it manifests at all. That very afternoon Liam admitted to me, rather sheepishly, that he had never been able to use Eagle Vision at all, and no-one was quite sure whether or not Achilles was capable of using it.

In the end mine worked in a very similar manner to Hope’s, although I don’t think she can see through walls the way that I can.

Ah, look at that; I’m already sounding half mad. I can hear you scoffing already; but seeing through walls is impossible Shay!

You will undoubtedly think that, at least if you have never come across the phenomenon before now. It is so difficult to describe. Using it is like closing your eyes, and opening another set entirely. You see the world differently, or at least I do. Everything that is important to me glows in bright colours, while everything else fades away into smoke and darkness. People usually glow the brightest, while the world around them fades into shadow and darkness.

In the days immediately following my Leap of Faith I was also finally introduced to Kesegowaase, the last member of the Colonial Brotherhood to serve as one of my tutors. The Wolastoqiyik man finally returned to the homestead after weeks of visiting nearby tribes and attempting to strike up alliances. Kesegowaase mostly kept to himself, but at Achilles prompting he would occasionally show me how to hunt animals, climb trees and generally live off the land.

I was never quite able to determine what Kesegowaase thought of me. He wasn’t friendly like Hope eventually was, or outright hostile like La Vérendrye, and chose to keep his own company rather than spend time with the other Assassins. His lessons, along with Liam’s and Hope’s, proved to be invaluable however, and before long I was boasting all the skills of a professional killer.

* * *

Eventually the time came for me to prove myself. It was time for my first solo assassination contract. Before that day I had accompanied Liam on a couple of his contracts, learning whatever I could from his work, observing the way that he approached his targets, and occasionally helping out where I could as a lookout or distraction. I had even observed Hope on one of her contracts, although I wasn’t sure how much luck I would have imitating her tactics, as they relied a lot on her feminine wiles, and the fact that she could sidle up right close to her targets without them ever perceiving her as a threat.

My first mission required me to track and assassinate one of the lower ranking Templars stationed in New York. I hadn’t been given a name or a reason why this particular Templar needed to be removed. Liam assured me that those details had already been taken care of. It was a test, just as much as the Leap of Faith, or anything else that the Assassins had me do in those days, but, according to Liam, an easy one. All I needed to do was watch the man that Liam pointed out to me and wait for the perfect time to end his life.

“Make me proud Shay,” Liam told me. He had lead the two of us to a lumber mill stationed a little way outside of New York and had already pointed out my target to me. He gave me one last grin and a hearty thump on the back before he slipped into the shadows and left me to my work.

I wasn’t a fool. I knew that Liam would stay in the area and continue to observe my actions. I had also figured out that the Templar I was to kill, whoever he was, had probably been picked as my first target precisely because he was of little importance to either the Assassins or the Templars. They would have picked someone fairly inconsequential, so that if I botched the assassination the potential ramifications of my mistake would be minimal.

I kept a close eye on my target, switching to Eagle Vision to make my task easier. The buildings of the lumber mill turned into nothing but vague shadows and outlines, while the people around me, including my unsuspecting target, glowed like stars.

There had been too many people in the warehouse on which Liam and I had perched, so I for one was glad when my target started to leave. Ideally I would be able to kill my target with no witnessed at all. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to wait too long before he entered a more secluded area.

As far as I could tell the lumber mill did not serve any secondary, more nefarious purpose, and probably existed only as a way for the Templars to bring in extra revenue. Everything that I saw told me that my target was perfectly innocent with the exception of his Templar affiliations, and probably did not deserve to die.

I had made peace with that though, or at least I thought I had. What this man had or had not done did not matter to me in that moment. What mattered was impressing Liam and Achilles and making them glad that they had accepted me as a member of their Brotherhood. God in heaven, I was just so desperate to fit in then; so desperate to make the both of them proud.

I leapt between buildings, following my target as closely as I dared. His travels eventually lead the two of us to a smaller building near the back of the complex. If I had to guess then I would have said that the building served as some sort of office for the establishment.

My target entered the building, closing the door behind him, and I grinned in triumph.

My Eagle Vision let me know that my target was completely alone inside the small building. I would need to find some way to sneak inside, but that would be easy enough. My target was making my first contract a very easy one indeed, and if everything went according to my plan then he wouldn’t be leaving that building alive.

I crept over to the small office as quietly as I could, occasionally glancing around to make sure that no-one would witness my break-in.

Liam and Hope had shown me an easy way to open latched doors using my hidden blade as a sort of jimmy, and I made quick work of the door, sneaking in behind my target with as little noise as possible.

As I entered the small office building I discovered my target hunched over a bench and examining some sort of paperwork. He muttered to himself as he worked. From what I could hear he was trying to work out some sort of arithmetic. He was so absorbed that sneaking up behind him felt almost too easy.

And then he turned a little, bringing the side of his face further into the light, and I stopped in my tracks. I was still in shadow, so my target couldn’t see me, but I could see enough of him to realise the identity of my first target.

It was William Forrester, brother to my childhood friend Lucy. I had promised her that I would help her track the man down, and yet there I was, about to take his life from him. At least I know knew why William kept disappearing, and why he was returning to his family covered in bruises. William Forrester was a low-ranking Templar.

The assassination suddenly seemed a lot more complicated. How could I kill this man when I knew his death would bring his sister, a woman that I viewed as a friend, nothing but pain? I began to panic. I couldn’t kill Forrester, but Liam and the other Assassins would be furious with me if they found out that I hadn’t been able to go through with the assassination.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

And then, before I could come up with any sort of solution, William Forrester’s back straightened up and he turned around even further.

“Is that you Finnegan?” he asked.

His eyes went wide as he caught sight of me.

He reached for the pistol at his side and I cursed. I charged towards the man, knocking him to the ground. I still wasn’t sure what I planned to do; whether I would kill him for the Assassins, or whether I would warn him that his life was in danger and tell him to return to his family.

It didn’t matter though. William Forrester soon proved that he was not willing to talk things through with me. I thought I had him pinned to the ground, but he managed to bring his knee up and catch me right between the legs. The pain was enough of a distraction for him to wriggle out from beneath me, and before I could recover he was already heading towards the still unlocked door.

“Wait!” I called out to him, but he had already left, and probably wasn’t inclined to listen to me besides.

I stumbled to my feet and chased after him, cursing as I went. My first assassination contract had turned into an absolute disaster.

William Forrester didn’t make it more than fifty yards past the office door before a dark shape leapt down from on top of a nearby building and landed right on top of him. The Templar let out a low, bloody gurgle and then quickly fell silent.

The shape unfolded, revealing itself, as I knew that it would, to be my friend Liam. Both of his hidden blades were covered with William Forrester’s blood.

I stared down at the body of William Forrester as I approached it. What I might have done; whether I might have spared his life, and whether he might have gone back to live a long and happy life with Lucy and the rest of his family; none of it mattered now. He was dead, and whether or not it was my blade that had done the deed seemed of little importance.

Liam’s eyes pinned me in place. My friend was furious.

“What the hell happened Shay?” he asked me.

“I… I slipped up,” I murmured, still feeling more than a little shocked by everything that had just happened. My heart pounded heavily in my chest, and I suddenly found it hard to breath. “He must have heard me coming.”

“Don’t give me that pile of shite!” Liam yelled at me, and soon I had a whole new fear; that the other workers at the mill would hear him shouting and would come to investigate. “I was watching you. You hesitated. Why? You had him cornered Shay. It should have been easy.”

“Well it wasn’t,” I snapped back at Liam.

He frowned, and I could tell that he had plenty more to say to me, but at that moment we heard a cry from another corner of the lumber mill, and before long the sound of hounds barking.

The two of us fled, leaving the body of William Forrester behind us.

* * *

It wasn’t until hours later, when we were safely away from the lumber mill and halfway back to the Davenport Homestead, that Liam asked me about the contract once more.

“So what the happened Shay?” he asked. “And try telling me the truth this time.”

It didn’t seem as though I was going to get away with lying where my friend was concerned, so I opted to tell him the truth and hoped that he would understand.

“I knew him,” I confessed.

“What?” Liam asked.

“Well, I didn’t know him; not exactly; but I knew his sister,” I continued, the words emerging from my mouth seemingly without my thinking about them beforehand.

“Jesus Christ Shay.”

“You did too,” I tried to reason with Liam. I could not understand how he had not only taken William Forrester’s life so callously, but also why he could not see why I might be so hesitant to do the same. “Lucinda Forrester, remember? She used to play with us on the streets. She came to Father Connelly’s church a few times.”

Admittedly Liam had not spent nearly as much time with little Lucy as I had, but it still disappointed me when he did not appear to remember her at all.

“Besides,” I continued. “William Forrester never did me, or, as far as I can tell, any of the Assassins any harm, so what bloody reason did we have to be taking his life?”

“That doesn’t matter Shay!” Liam told me. He shoved me back rather roughly and unkindly with one arm. “It doesn’t matter who his sister is, or whether you think the man is innocent or not. He’s a bloody Templar!”

Liam took a step back, took a deep breath, and then began pacing backwards and forwards in front of me.

“Damn it Shay,” he muttered. I was finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I assumed that it was nerves or something of the like that made you hesitate, not a bloody crisis of conscience.”

I don’t think the realisation that I had essentially joined a group of cold-blooded killers had truly sunk in until that moment.

“We can’t tell Achilles what happened here,” Liam said as he paced backwards and forwards. I didn’t need Liam to explain why. Hope might have accepted me as part of the fold based purely on my affection for Liam, but Achilles and Kesegowaase and especially La Vérendrye still weren’t convinced of my worth. I had needed to impress them, and failing to kill William Forrester certainly wasn’t going to help on that front.

“You… Look Shay, as far as anyone is concerned, you killed William Forrester, all right? You went through with your first contract, and while your target almost escaped, you managed to take him down before he could summon help. Are you with me Shay?”

I felt strangely numb, and could only nod my agreement, even though lying to the rest of the Assassins did not sit right with me.

Liam managed to summon a smile then, but it was painfully easy to see it was fake. He clamped a hand down on my shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a comforting, brotherly gesture, but which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

“Come on,” he told me. “You did… you did good…”

It was a lie. We both knew it. 

* * *

When we returned to the Davenport Homestead, Liam gave his fabricated version of events while I stood back and tried to pretend that Liam’s lies weren’t cutting me to the core. Achilles nodded and smiled as Liam spoke, although his smiles and approval were clearly for Liam himself, and not for me. Hope happened to be in the room when Liam made his report, and while Achilles might have been caught up in Liam’s version of events, Hope’s eyes would occasionally dart over to me, where I stood in the corner of the room, trying to make myself as small as possible. She didn’t smile, and I slowly began to realise that she wasn’t buying Liam’s version of events at all.

After Liam had finished reporting to Achilles, my friend took me aside and the two of us made a small campfire a short way away from the Davenport household. We would often do this, either as part of our training, or sometimes just because we wanted to get away from Achilles and his family for a short while, and of course, La Vérendrye if he was visiting. Sometimes Hope would even join us.

We had been sitting in front of the fire for a while before Liam let out a loud, long sigh and then turned to face me.

“What are we going to do about this Shay?” he asked me.

“What do you mean?” I asked. As far as I knew Liam’s plan to lie about what had happened with William Forrester had worked perfectly well.

“You’re not going to have me to cover for you on every mission,” Liam continued. “So I need to know whether this is going to be a problem. Are you going to hesitate on your next assassination as well?”

I wasn’t going to know every single target, as I had with William Forrester. I knew that, but neither could I guarantee that another problem like this wasn’t going to arise. It just seemed pointless and cruel to me to kill someone who, as far as I knew, had not done anything wrong.

“I don’t know,” I said, deciding it was best to tell Liam the truth.

He cursed beneath his breath and sighed again. I could tell that I was disappointing him, and I hated myself for it.

“Shay, listen to me,” Liam began again. “Every single one of our targets is going to be a living, breathing human being, probably with friends and family that care about them. You can’t think about that though. They’ve all done terrible things Shay, and even if they haven’t, they’re all Templars, and if the Templars had their way then every single person on earth would be enslaved under their control. We can’t allow that to happen. You need to think about that Shay, about the people they’ve hurt and enslaved. You need to think about how much better off the world will be without your target in it; or how awful the world would be if we let the Templars win. That should make it easier, right?”

I still wasn’t sure why it was that William Forrester had needed to die, but nevertheless I forced myself to nod in response to Liam’s question.

He clamped his hand down on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. I forced myself to smile at Liam, and I can safely say that I have always been much better at forcing such things and faking joy than my old friend, so I think he might have even believed my confidence was genuine.

“Good,” Liam said. “So we’re not going to have this problem again, are we?”

“Of course not Liam,” I assured him. “You know that you can trust me.”

It was at that moment that we both became aware of a third figure approaching our campfire. Hope’s arms were crossed in front of her chest, and she did not look pleased at all to see us.

“Good evening Liam, Shay,” she said, nodding politely at each of us before fixing her gaze on Liam.

“We need to talk,” she told him, and while the smile never dropped from her face, the amount of venom that was present in her words almost made me shudder.

Liam got to his feet, and I moved to join him, at least until Hope’s eyes darted back to pin me in place once more.

“Alone,” she told me.

I sat back down by the fire, and waited a few moments, before I snuck off after the other two. I knew what it was that they would no doubt be discussing, and I was damned if I was just going to let them talk about me behind my back.

I needn’t have moved from my spot by the fire. I had only crept a short way away from the fire when I heard the two of them shouting.

“You can’t go coddling him like this!” Hope yelled.

I don’t know what it was that Liam said in reply to that. His own words were too low, but whatever he said was enough for Hope to let out a wordless cry of frustration.

“Are you planning to hold his hand during every mission?” she asked Liam with biting sarcasm in her voice.

Liam spoke again, and I hesitated to move closer. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to be listening to their conversation at all. I caught a couple of words, including my name, and then Hope let out a sigh so loud that I could still hear it from my hiding place.

“He has a lot of potential Liam,” Hope said. “But it’s going to be wasted if you spoil him like this.”

“I’m not spoiling him,” Liam replied, finally loud enough that I could actually hear him.

“Then what is this?” Hope asked.

Liam and Hope were both silent for a long time, and feeling guilty, I made my way back to the camp, where I curled up next to the fire and tried to pretend that I hadn’t heard a single word of their argument.

It must have been nearly an hour before Liam and Hope returned to the campfire, and when they did they looked miserable. I knew that I was the reason they had fought; both my having failed the mission and Liam’s decision to lie for me being to blame. When Hope sat down beside Liam she sent a none-too-happy glance my way, as though she was somehow even more disappointed in me than Liam.

“Are you going to tell Master Achilles?” I asked her.

“Am I going to tell him what?” she asked. “That you are undisciplined and unruly? I suspect he already knows that.”

So Liam hadn’t told her everything about what had happened during the contract. She clearly knew that something had gone wrong. Perhaps it was better that she and the other Assassins think me undisciplined rather than realise the truth; that I was not sure I believed in the Assassin cause, and was even less comfortable committing murder in their name.

Don’t get me wrong. Anyone who knows me knows that I have no problem killing if there’s a reason for it, and even before I had joined the Assassins I had taken more than one life, but I was far from convinced that William Forrester had needed to die. He had a family who would mourn him, and no matter how I looked at it, the most that we had achieved in killing him was to mildly inconvenience the Templar cause. It seemed like such a blasted waste.

Still, if there is one thing that I was good at in those days, it was playing the fool, and pretending that everything was fine and joyous. After all, if you sing the loudest and tell the bawdiest jokes then everyone assumes that you must be all right, and so I spent the rest of that night joking around with Liam and Hope, and trying my hardest to make them smile.

It didn’t really work, and Hope, for one, had precious few smiles to spare for me after that night. 

* * *

The next day I asked Liam and Achilles for permission to visit New York for a couple of days. I could tell that Liam was worried about the purpose of my visit, but he said nothing about it, and Achilles gave him an assignment of his own, so I could relax knowing that Liam could not follow me while I saw to this particular task.

My association with Liam and the Assassins meant that I had cleaned up quite a bit since the last time I had visited the Forrester estate, but I was still nervous when I knocked on the door. To my relief the servant that answered the door was a different one to the last time, and when I asked to see Miss Lucinda he went to fetch her without any objections.

I wasn’t sure what I hoped to achieve by visiting the Forresters. Nothing that I could do could possibly make up for the death of William, nor could I tell them the truth about his work or why he had died, and apologising was similarly impossible, at least without giving away my part in his death.

As Lucy made her way to the door I realised that she was dressed all in black. The Forrester family had already received word of William’s death. At least I would not be the one to inform them of his passing.

“Shay?” Lucy asked. She carried a handkerchief in one hand, and it was clear to me that she had been crying. “What are you doing here? I thought Father chased you off for good last time?”

She almost laughed as she spoke, but the sound came out choked and broken thanks to the tears that still threatened to run down her cheeks at any second.

“I heard about William,” I told her. “I suppose I came to pay my respects, but mostly I think I came here because I was worried about you.”

She stared at me with a furrowed brow and a mouth that seemed caught half-way between a smile and a frown.

“How did it happen?” I asked her, partially because I was still worried that word might have gotten out about mine and Liam’s involvement in William’s death, but mostly because I needed something to fill the silence between us.

“They told us that it was an accident at work,” Lucy said, sniffling as she spoke. “They say that some dangerous equipment fell on him… But they won’t let us see the body Shay, and they…”

“They’re still lying to you about it?” I asked. “Do you think they’re trying to cover something up?”

She sniffed again and nodded.

“If you want I could…”

I hesitated mid-sentence, not sure of what it was exactly that I had been about to offer. I could hardly look into William’s death when I myself had been involved.

Lucinda pursed her lips and frowned at me then.

“Don’t offer to help me with this again Shay Patrick Cormac,” she said. “Don’t you dare. It would not be appropriate.”

I was about to ask what she meant when a voice joined the conversation from somewhere behind Lucy.

“Is everything all right, my dear?”

I didn’t recognise the voice as belonging to Lucy’s father or any of the housekeepers, but I was not left wondering as to its identity for very long. Within moments a well-dressed gentleman had stepped up beside Lucy and entwined his arm with her own.

“Yes, thank you Elias,” Lucy said, forcing a smile for this newcomer, whoever he might be.

“And who is this?” Elias asked, sending me a genuine smile. He did not seem as immediately predisposed towards hating me as Lucinda’s family and servants had been.

“This is Shay Cormac, an old friend,” Lucy introduced me. “He heard about William and came to pay his respects. Shay, this is my fiancé, Elias Daughtry.”

“Fiancé?” I blurted out. I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Lucinda was a beautiful young woman of good standing. I hoped that the engagement was a relatively new development, otherwise I would look like a very poor friend indeed.

“My congratulations to you both,” I murmured.

“You should go Shay,” Lucinda told me. She was right, but that didn’t stop her fiancé from trying to invite me in for a drink and a game of cards.

I politely declined his suggestion however, knowing that even if Lucinda’s family allowed it, I would not be able to sit there in the middle of them all in their mourning clothes and pretend that I had played no part in their son’s death. Lucy and I bade each other farewell, and this time I felt as though it might be for good. 

* * *

The next time I was assigned an assassination, Liam made sure that I knew of every vile thing that my target had ever done. Half of it probably wasn’t even true. It didn’t matter. I steeled my heart against any emotion or drop of sympathy that I might have felt for my target. He wasn’t a man at all. He was a Templar; nothing more than a ghoul or a shadow. Something that needed to be removed from the world. I think I even managed to convince myself that there was some truth to it all, and when my blade sunk into the flesh of his neck, I barely felt a thing.

And later, when the shock and anger might have caught hold of me, I banished them with alcohol and forced laughter and tried to ignore the churning sickness in my stomach, or the shaking of my hands as they gripped my celebratory bottle of whiskey.


	9. 25th July 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we finally hit canon! :D Thanks to everyone who has stayed with the story so far. I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)

25th July 1757

If any of my Templar brethren are reading this you are undoubtedly wondering how it was that I came to change sides.

For the next few years everything seemed perfectly fine. I did whatever tasks Achilles or Liam assigned me, although deep in my heart I often questioned what we were doing, and wondered if could truly be in the right when we brought about so much death.

Occasionally I would confide in Liam concerning these doubts, hoping that he might know of some way to assuage them. Often if my doubts were concerning a target he would have something to tell me concerning the Templar’s morality, or lack thereof. Sometimes it even helped.

But nothing looked as though it was going to change any time soon. I may not have believed in the Assassins’ cause, but I believed in my dear friend Liam, and so I kept my head down and did whatever was asked of me.

Trying to pinpoint when exactly it was that things began to change is difficult, but I suppose it was around the beginning of 1752. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I am certain this is when I should begin the next chapter of my life. You see, this particular incident is significant in more ways than one, because it was on this day that I met the love of my life.

I was accompanying Liam and Chevalier de la Vérendrye on a mission for the Assassins. I had no idea what the goal of our mission was; only that Achilles had commanded me to accompany the others to a freezing cold outpost up north, where we would be meeting with a group of smugglers.

Our journey had taken us to a small island in the North Atlantic. Liam and I were out gathering supplies, at least as far as La Vérendrye was concerned. We were both sick of the man after being cooped up with him on board the Gerfaut, which was _his_ ship, and therefore crewed by _his_ men, few of which spoke anything other than French, and even fewer of which wanted anything to do with myself or Liam. Neither I nor my friend were in much of a hurry to return to the camp, and so we messed around for a good hour or two before Liam suggested that we should split up so that we might actually get some work done.

I wanted to spend as much time away from La Vérendrye as possible though, and so it wasn’t long before I had taken to the trees and was occupying myself sneaking after Liam as carefully and quietly as I could.

It had become a game between myself, Liam and Hope to try and sneak up on one another when we could. Hope almost always got the better of both of us, and I was still a fair way from being able to get the better of Liam, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

I waited until Liam was focussing on some flotsam that he had discovered on the nearby shore, before attempting to leap down on top of him and catch him by surprise. He had shown no signs of being aware of my presence, and I thought that maybe I had finally managed to get the better of him. He turned aside at the last moment however, meaning I pounced on nothing but the snow-covered ground.

He laughed a little at me.

“Admit it!” I demanded. “I nearly had you.”

We started to talk, but our conversation was swiftly interrupted when we heard a gunshot coming from the direction of our main camp. Liam suggested we return, and I wasn’t about to argue with him. The sound of gunfire could not possibly signify anything good.

We ran back to the campsite, Liam leading and me following close behind. I heard La Vérendrye’s cursing before we saw him. When we arrived at the campsite there was no mistaking the fact that it had been attacked.

La Verendrye’s men had taken casualties. Only a couple of them had died, but many of the others had been wounded.

La Vérendrye could be temperamental at the best of times. Having his men wounded had only put him in an even worse mood than usual.

“Where the hell were you two!?” he roared at us.

We had returned as quickly as we possibly could have. I don’t know what more he expected from us.

“We were out hunting,” I told him. It was not the entire truth, but I didn’t care. I had well and truly had enough of La Vérendrye and his temper during our time on board the Gerfaut.

“What happened here?” I asked him, trying not to let my temper and my dislike of the man take control of me.

“My men were attacked by some English sea dogs,” he replied. That much was obvious, and his lack of any sort of explanation only served to infuriate me more. He hadn’t shown me an ounce of respect or good will since I had first joined the Assassins, and that certainly didn’t show any signs of changing. He always was such an arrogant, unfeeling...

My apologies. I realised that I can’t continue to describe him without my language devolving, and that sort of thing should not be put down on paper. It is just that the thought of him even now makes my blood begin to boil.

“Why Captain Joseph,” I taunted him, knowing that he hated people addressing him without using at least some of his correct titles. God almighty, he could be such a…

There I go again.

“Couldn’t you fight them all off by yourself like you’re always saying?” I continued to taunt him. Liam gestured frantically for me to hold off on taunting the other man, but I ignored him.

I still feel now that my words were perfectly warranted. To listen to La Vérendrye boast you would think his family responsible for every great advancement the French have ever made.

I got an even better response than I had expected. Not only did he chastise me for shortening his name, as though I could possibly forget Captain Louis-Joseph Gautier, Chevalier de la Vérendrye, with how often he chose to remind us of his titles and illustrious family, but he also flew into a rant about how I would never be a good Assassin, and how I didn’t even understand what it took to be one. I shouldn’t have been surprised; in those days my faults were one of his absolute favourite topics of conversation.

“Do you even know what it means to be an Assassin?” he continued to rant at me. “It means being responsible for an ancient and proud tradition. It means obeying your mentor without question. How else will we ensure freedom for the human race?”

To be perfectly honest, that was one of the things about the Assassins that had always bothered me the most. All of them, but La Vérendrye and Achilles especially, liked to go on about how they were trying to help the human race, how what they were doing was somehow freeing people, and yet in the entire time I was with them, I don’t think I ever saw them directly help anyone, much less free them. All they did was end people’s lives, and while Liam tried to assure me that the men and women we killed were all terrible people, I am not sure I have ever seen a Templar commit even half of the wicked deeds that the Assassins would have had me believe.

“That’s pretty words Chevalier,” I replied, “but I don’t feel too free at the moment.”

I never did feel free with the Assassins, especially with him. I was supposed to blindly follow their orders after all. How the hell was that freedom?

“Well then,” La Vérendrye yelled at me. “Feel educated!”

And with that he was flying at me, all fists and rage. Unfortunately for La Vérendrye, if there was one skill that I had already possessed before joining the Assassins, it was the ability to take or throw a punch, and while La Vérendrye was a tough opponent, I got in a few solid hits before Liam managed to pull us apart.

The fight had been a long time coming. When I look back, I am surprised that it was the first time our tempers had actually boiled over to such a degree. I suppose I should be glad that Liam was there, because if he hadn’t been then La Vérendrye and I might have actually killed one another.

As it was he remained an enraged mess despite Liam’s attempt to calm him down.

“The Royal Navy attacked my vessel and forced my men to flee!” La Vérendrye screamed. “We are stranded, and what is worse, the smugglers we were supposed to meet have been taken prisoner.”

And that had all happened while Liam and I had been out hunting. Things were indeed bad. Without the Gerfaut we had no way off the island. I might have been slightly more sympathetic to La Vérendrye’s cause however, if it wasn’t clear that Liam was the only thing stopping him from throwing a few more punches in my direction.

“Shay and I will free those smugglers,” Liam told La Vérendrye. “See to your wounded.”

La Vérendrye was supposed to be the leader for this mission, but Liam was clearly the one actually in command at that moment. He was calm and direct, while it was clear to the both of us that La Vérendrye needed time to calm down, and was in no state to be attempting proper Assassin work.

The British camp was set up just around the corner from our own campsite. Liam led the way there and we spent a few moments assessing the situation. The British ship lay just a short way offshore. A small squadron of lobster soldiers were still in their campsite, and had three of the smugglers with them. I don’t know what they planned to do with them. Possibly they intended to interrogate them, but whatever the British planned for the smugglers, it couldn’t have been pleasant.

Between Liam and I we made short work of the British at the campsite, and managed to save the three smugglers without any of them coming to harm. They were incredibly grateful, and pointed us in the direction of the British ship, where the rest of their brethren were still being held captive.

Liam attended to the smugglers we had rescued while I approached the British ship.

I would like to say that as soon as I saw her I stopped in my tracks and stared, but the truth was that it wasn’t until we had completed our mission and I was free to take a closer look at the British vessel that I realised how beautiful she was. She was a simple sloop-of-war, far smaller than La Vérendrye’s Gerfaut, and she had clearly been through a lot, but there was something about her that called to me. I caught her name, the ‘Morrigan’, when I climbed up her aft to sneak aboard her rear deck. Perhaps it was destiny. After all, my father’s ship had been named after a woman from mythology. It only seems right that my own should be as well.

There weren’t all that many British soldiers stationed on the deck of the Morrigan, and I was able to take care of them fairly easily. The remaining two smugglers had been bound hand and foot near the fore, and I quickly set to work freeing these men as well.

During that time however the rest of the ship’s crew had been alerted to my presence, and soon they came pouring out from below decks to challenge me. I held them off as well as I could, but by the time Liam and La Vérendrye appeared my fellow Assassins were a very welcome sight indeed. Together the three of us, with a little help from the smugglers we had freed, were able to take down the remaining redcoats.

“I was saving those fellows for you,” I joked, once the redcoats had been taken care of.

“Very thoughtful,” Liam quipped back.

Apparently my freeing the smugglers and taking over the British vessel had been particularly impressive, because it even brought me a complement from La Vérendrye, or as close as he ever got where I was concerned

“Maybe you are not completely useless Shay,” he told me.

At any other time I might have had something to say in response to such a back-handed compliment. As it was, my attention was completely taken up by something else. I had begun to notice how beautiful the British ship was. Sure, she was desperately in need of a new coat of paint, and could definitely do with a few extra cannon, but she was so beautiful that she took my breath away.

In the years since my father’s death I had grown to miss life on the ocean. The only time I had really been able to venture out to sea while I had been with the Assassins had been on the Gerfaut, under La Vérendrye’s command. Needless to say, those had hardly been the most pleasant of missions.

Staring at the Morrigan then, at the old, beautiful woodwork that covered her wheel and sides, and her strong old masts, I had an idea.

“Speaking of useless,” I muttered, my hand trailing over the nearest patch of wood, “those blockheads won’t be needing this vessel anymore.”

By the time La Vérendrye spoke, I had already come up with half a dozen reasons as to why my taking possession of the Morrigan made sense. The Assassins could do with another ship. After all, what if something happened to La Vérendrye or the Gerfaut? Besides, I had plenty of experience on the ocean, and it seemed a shame to have all that knowledge go to waste. And she would be another source of income for the Assassins.

As it turned out I didn’t need a single one of these excuses. La Vérendrye realised what I was suggesting without me even having to utter another word of explanation.

“This pile of merde?” La Vérendrye said, looking around in surprise and disgust at the ship. I did not need the French curse translated. I had heard it often enough around La Vérendrye. He had insulted my ship, but I did not let that bother me. If he couldn’t see how beautiful she was, then that was to his detriment.

“She is yours,” La Vérendrye conceded. “Now bring me back to my ship.”

Which only left me with the problem of recruiting a crew. Luckily the smugglers were all grateful enough that we had saved their lives that they offered to serve as at least a temporary crew. A few of them even stayed with me permanently, including one of the men whose life I saved on the shore, and who is, despite all the odds, still serving with me now.

His name is Ford Ballantyne, and he proved to be a… I was going to say invaluable member of my crew, but I am not sure that is quite the right description for the man. He never really left his past behind him. He does his fair share of the work and no more, and is an incredibly bad man to gamble against, being responsible for taking money off at least half of the crew at some stage or another, but he has always been excellent for keeping up morale, and has a remarkable singing voice which he has used countless times to lead the men of the Morrigan in sea shanties.

As for Liam, he stepped into the role of first mate without me even having to ask.

* * *

When we found the Gerfaut we discovered that the British had set upon her. The Morrigan entered her first battle with her new captain, and even though we were operating with a minimal crew who were all new to their positions I am proud to say that they conducted themselves admirably, and before long La Vérendrye had been seen safely back to his own ship, although it was clear that she was in urgent need of repairs.

I for one was glad to see La Vérendrye gone. After a few hushed conversations with some of the smugglers we had freed it appeared as though his mission, whatever that might have been, was concluded successfully, or at least had moved onto the next stage; a stage that Liam and I were no longer welcome to join him on.

I never did find out what exactly our purpose was in the North Atlantic, although considering later events I can make a few educated guesses. Whatever it was, Liam and I agreed that it was time for the two of us and my new vessel to return to the homestead and report to Achilles.

During the few weeks that it took us to return to the homestead the crew of the Morrigan settled into an easy rhythm. We made a couple of stops along the way, recruited a few more men to serve as the Morrigan’s crew and ordered a few improvements for my new vessel. By the time we made it back to the homestead the Morrigan and her crew were definitely enough to make me proud.

I had not realised how much I had missed being out on the open seas until I was at the Morrigan’s wheel. The sea breeze blowing against my face; the camaraderie of the men under my command. It was like coming home in a way, and this time I was Captain, something that I had never experienced before, but which I soon found fit me like a glove.

Everything seemed perfect. I should have known it was too good to last.


	10. 26th July 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter 10 already? Oh my goodness. As usual, the full chapter is beneath the cut. Thank you everyone who has commented or left kudos on this fic. I know that I am terrible at replying to comments, but know that every single one of them means so much to me. You really make this all worthwhile.

26th July 1757

Now that I had been given another taste of life on the ocean, this time as captain of my own ship, I was itching to get back out there, but to my disappointment, Achilles did not immediately assign me and Liam a new task for the Morrigan. Instead my men were given extended shore leave, many of them taking off to New York for a few days as I waited for Achilles or Liam to give me my next mission.

The others made sure that I kept up my training, although I wasn’t sure what else they had left to teach me. Sure, I wasn’t as good a sharpshooter as Liam, or as good at sneaking up behind people as Hope, but surely time and practise would see that change.

Liam and I had been back at the homestead for a couple of weeks when an unexpected visitor showed up. I had seen the warship pull into the port near the homestead, and even though I did not recognise it, I knew from experience that questions regarding her purpose there would not only fail to get me answers, but possibly get me chastised as well.

Achilles had sent Liam down to the docks to meet with someone on board. I will admit that my curiosity got the better of me, and I made sure that I stayed relatively close to Achilles over the next few hours, playing the dutiful student and taking care of whatever tasks he gave me, so that I would be nearby whenever our visitor showed up.

Eventually Liam returned along with a man whose skin was even darker than Achilles. Our mentor did not show affection to many people outside of his family and Liam, but he embraced this stranger like they were old friends.

I had been in the middle of chopping wood and talking to Achilles when the stranger arrived, and as the two of them met up I tried to look as though the axe and wood had every ounce of my attention, but in reality I was all too curious about our mysterious visitor.

The stranger, who Achilles addressed as Adéwalé, had come from the West Indies, where something had apparently gone horribly wrong. They didn’t get any further than that before Achilles suggested to his friend that the two of them should retire to the inside of the homestead, where they could discuss things further.

Achilles had not stopped to introduce the two of us. Liam had remained behind as our mentor and his friend had made their way to the manor however, and so I turned to him for answers.

“Who’s our visitor?” I asked him, hefting the axe over my shoulders and giving up any pretences of still being absorbed in the task of chopping wood.

“That’s Adéwalé,” Liam told me, as though I should recognise the name. “He’s a slave who freed himself and hundreds of his brothers in the West Indies. That man’s a living incarnation of the Creed.”

It was clear that my friend held a great deal of respect for Adéwalé, and I could not blame him. Our visitor sounded like the sort of man I wanted to get to know, the sort of man who was focussed less on meaningless ideologies and killing Templars, and more on actually helping people out and doing what he could to make the world a better place.

Liam invited me to join him in some sharpshooting practise, but I made my excuses, telling him that I would join him once I had taken care of something.

In truth the only thing that I intended to take care of was a bit of eavesdropping on Achilles and Adéwalé I wanted to know what it was that had brought Adéwalé to our humble little homestead. After all, he had mentioned some sort of trouble, and I wanted to know what that trouble was. So little was explained to me in those days, and I was thirsty for answers, even if it was only answers to this smallest, most recent of mysteries.

It was easy enough to sneak after Adéwalé and Achilles; easier still to crouch in a nearby patch of bushes as the two of them sat down on the porch of the Davenport manor and began to talk. Clearly they were more worried about getting comfortable than potentially being overheard, because they hadn’t even moved inside the house, and La Vérendrye was standing nearby at the end of the porch. If the two of them didn’t mind La Vérendrye overhearing their conversation then surely they wouldn’t mind if I also did.

“Tell me what happened old friend,” Achilles began.

“It was terrible Achilles. The ground shook and ocean waves crashed over Port Au Prince.”

“How many were lost?”

“Thousands. No family was left untouched.”

“I hate to bring up practical matters at a time like this, but did Mackandal’s man complete his task before the earthquake hit?”

“I cannot know. Vendredi has not been found. He was a strong Maroon, one of Mackandal’s best.”

The mystery of Adéwalé’s visit was becoming more and more interesting by the second. Thousands dead and a mysterious Assassin mission? This seemed important, and I could not help but wonder why this wasn’t being discussed with all of the Colonial Assassins.

I heard more talk, of temples under the waves, and mysterious artefacts that the Templars had taken. Achilles and Adéwalé were just starting to discuss what we should actually do about it when my eavesdropping was interrupted.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Hope asked me as she grabbed me by my hood and pulled me out from the bushes.

“So this business you had to take care of?” Liam asked me, and I swear even though he was smiling you could hear the disapproval in his voice. “It wouldn’t happen to be eavesdropping on the Mentor and his guest, would it?”

I shoved Liam away, but soon enough my trespassing was forgotten and Liam and Hope had dragged me over to the area in which we usually trained. I don’t think the others had heard what Master Achilles and Adéwalé were discussing. If they had then I think they would have been a lot more inclined to listen to me later.

I was chastised for missing the first part of my training, but it was soon forgotten as we got to work.

I spent the rest of the day having my skills tested by Hope, Liam and Kesegowaase, and afterwards Achilles sent word that he wanted to speak with me. I was at least a little scared that he had discovered my eavesdropping and wanted to chastise me for it, but instead he gifted me with a brand new set of pistols as a reward for passing all of the tests that the others had set for me.

It was while I was still in the process of thanking Achilles that Adéwalé sidled up alongside the two of us. The man moves as silently as anyone I have ever met. It wasn’t until he was right beside us that I knew he was even there.

“My ship awaits Achilles,” he murmured, not even acknowledging my presence. “The people of Haiti will make good use of your supplies. I trust you will retrieve what has been lost.”

They had included me in their conversation now, whether they had intended to or not. Perhaps I could find out more about what had happened in Haiti.

“Lost?” I asked.

I feigned ignorance. Surely it wouldn’t do to give away that I had been eavesdropping. Perhaps I could even convince Achilles to give me more information. I was not disappointed.

“The Templars stole two precious artefacts,” Achilles told me. “A manuscript of ancient wisdom, and a box that allows one to understand its language.”

“I have tracked the Templars as far as this coast,” Adéwalé told Achilles. He still did not even address me, even to introduce himself, but neither did he seem to care that I could overhear every word that he said. “But I fear the rest is up to you my friend.”

Adéwalé and Achilles took a moment to properly farewell one another, and then Adéwalé was off, heading back towards the nearby harbour, his business with our brotherhood apparently already over.

Achilles and I watched Adéwalé leave for a moment, and then Achilles turned to face me.

“Whoever controls the artefacts can access Precursor sites of power,” he told me. “We must recover them, or none are safe.”

This wasn’t the first time that I had heard about the Precursors or their legendary artefacts. Liam and Achilles had told me the basics at least; that the items were powerful, left behind, apparently, by some ancient race, and that we needed to keep them out of Templar hands. That was about it though. Even when I was holding them in my own bloody hands I don’t think I truly understood precisely how powerful and dangerous such things could be, at least not until it was too late.

* * *

Soon everyone at the homestead had heard about the earthquake that had destroyed Haiti and killed so many people, although fewer had heard about the Precursor artefacts that we had been chasing when disaster had struck.

A few days later Liam and I were given instructions to ship out to a destination that Liam knew but which I did not. It created a strange dynamic on board the Morrigan to have a First Mate that seemed to know more about our heading and purpose than the Captain did.

It wasn’t until we had already been sailing for a few weeks that Liam let me know what the plan actually was. I had assumed that our mission would have something to do with the Precursor artefacts and the disaster that Achilles and Adéwalé had been discussing, but I hadn’t known for certain until then.

We were discussing our destination when Liam let drop that the two of us were following up on the only lead the Assassins had on the Precursor artefacts Achilles had mentioned. At first I thought Achilles must have put Liam in charge of finding the box and the manuscript, and the Morrigan and I were merely taking Liam to his destination, but after very little prodding he revealed that I had actually been tasked with finding them, and Liam was just to act as, well, I suppose there’s no better term for what he was supposed to be than my babysitter.

Achilles had always trusted Liam more than me, but it still stung that Achilles had thought I needed Liam to supervise me.

I tried to shake it off however, and teased Liam about being Achilles’ favourite. It wasn’t the first time I had done so. It was clear that Achilles doted upon Liam, and cared for him perhaps almost as much as Achilles’ own son, Connor.

Our destination ended up being a small island fortress in the middle of the freezing cold North Atlantic. I was already holding little hope for this mission when I disembarked and approached the fortress, but as I ventured into the shadows of those high stone walls I spotted the one man who could, without a doubt, ruin any possible mission the Assassins might assign me.

Chevalier de la Vérendrye was standing not too far away, and conversing animatedly with a merchant about something. I doubted that his presence there was a coincidence.

La Vérendrye turned and smiled as soon as he spotted me, like a shark might smile when it spots its prey.

The Frenchman soon made it pretty clear to me that the Morrigan’s one and only task in visiting the fortress was to pick him up. A more loathsome task I could not imagine. He also told me that he had found our one and only lead on the Precursor manuscript. Apparently one of his allies had spotted the Templars as they worked on translating the curious text. The manuscript, you see, was impossible to read. Even the Templars’ best men could not make any sense out of it.

So La Vérendrye’s contact had seen the text and might know who held it now. It was a small lead, but it was the only one that we had.

La Vérendrye joined us as we travelled to Anticosti, and as we sailed he told me a little about the contact that we were going to meet. The man went by the name of Le Chasseur, and served as a spy for the French army and for the Assassins, and worked with the local pirates in order to dig up information. La Vérendrye seemed convinced that Le Chasseur’s true loyalty was to the Assassins, despite the fact that he was a pirate, and also worked with both the British and French armies. I was less convinced that he could be trusted, but he was the only lead that we had, and so I had no choice but to head towards Anticosti as commanded.

* * *

Travelling with La Vérendrye on board the Morrigan was a nightmare. He had a habit of insulting me and my crew every chance he got. There was no subtlety to it either, and no way that you could ever mistake his biting words for anything other than what they were.

I had to fight the urge to push La Vérendrye overboard more than once, and it was only Liam, and the thought of how the other Assassins might react to my having murdered a member of our Brotherhood that kept me in line.

The journey to Anticosti was a long one, and felt even longer because of La Vérendrye’s presence on board. We got into a few scuffles along the way, and while my men proved themselves and fought admirably, it was still not enough to impress La Vérendrye, who remained disagreeable.

It wasn’t just the Morrigan that made him prickly either. It seemed as though I couldn’t even open my mouth without La Vérendrye openly disagreeing with me, no matter what it was I said.

I suggested that perhaps we should talk to the Templars, perhaps work with them in order to solve the mysteries of the Precursor box and manuscript. La Vérendrye immediately dismissed the idea, saying that the Assassins and Templars would never be able to see eye to eye, his loathing for the Templars clear in every word that emerged from his mouth.

Wanting to improve the general mood on board the Morrigan, which had, predictably, been flagging ever since La Vérendrye had come on board, I suggested optimistically that perhaps Le Chasseur would have already translated the manuscript by the time we arrived in Anticosti. La Vérendrye shot the idea down immediately, acting as though I was an idiot for even suggesting such a thing, and this time, to my annoyance, Liam even joined in with him.

I knew that my crew was growing as sick of La Vérendrye as I was, and Ford even suggested that we should tip La Vérendrye over the side of ship when no-one was looking. I probably should have punished him for insubordination for saying such a thing. Vérendrye certainly would have demanded it if he had overheard, and if anything that made me more likely to forgive Ford his little joke. I chastised him, but did no more, and judging by the wink he gave me I think he understood that I was just as sick of our French guest as the rest of them.

When we finally arrived in Anticosti, I felt as though I would go mad if I was forced to spend any more time in La Vérendrye’s presence, but I already knew that before I could bid the blighter farewell I would at least have to wait for him to introduce me to the infamous Le Chasseur.

Our destination was an interesting one. The island seemed more like a fortress than a proper settlement, and it seemed as though everyone there was in some way connected to the Assassins or to Le Chasseur’s pirate allies.

Once I had seen to the Morrigan and her crew I set off to find my fellow Assassins, who had already gone ashore to meet Le Chasseur. With a little help from the locals and a little more from my Eagle Vision it was relatively easy to track them down.

The three of them were hidden away near the top of Anticosti, and when I stepped through the door they were already deep in conversation. La Vérendrye and Le Chasseur were chatting like old friends while Liam stood by and watched, mostly in silence.

I don’t think I had ever seen La Vérendrye quite as relaxed as he was around Le Chasseur. He smiled more readily as well. I realised then that he wasn’t cold and unfriendly to everyone that he knew. Apparently just to me.

They stopped talking when I arrived, and La Vérendrye was relatively well behaved as he introduced Le Chasseur and myself to one another, somehow even managing to resist the no doubt strong urge to insult me as he did. Le Chasseur was rather well-mannered and well dressed for a pirate, and I found myself taking an instant liking to the man, despite his association with La Vérendrye.

It didn’t take long before Le Chasseur turned the topic of conversation to our reason for being in Anticosti; the Precursor manuscript.

He described the manuscript as being written in a strange language, and full of plants and animals ‘out of an opium dream’.

“Were there no charts? No maps?” La Vérendrye asked.

“No,” Le Chasseur replied. “There may have been some kind of code, but neither I nor the Rosbifs could read it.”

I was beginning to wonder why the others thought the manuscript was so bloody important. As far as I could tell we had no guarantee that the manuscript was anything more than nonsense.

Liam spoke up for the first time.

“Where is the manuscript now?” he asked.

All that Le Chasseur could tell us was that the man who bought the manuscript had been sent by a man named Washington.

I knew the name. Lawrence Washington was an important Templar. Even though I had, at that stage, very little to do with the upper echelons of the Templar order, Liam, Achilles and Hope had made sure that I knew all of the higher ranking members; their names, their appearance and their place in the Order.

Liam confirmed my suspicions, thanked Le Chasseur and then hurried me out of the room, apparently eager to begin the hunt, or, perhaps, eager to leave La Vérendrye and his friend behind. Before long we were back at the docks and planning our next move.

“So what’s our next heading?” I asked Liam as we prepared to leave Anticosti.

“Wherever this Lawrence Washington docks his arse,” Liam replied, with a surprising amount of feeling. He had been so formal and uptight while La Vérendrye had been on board with us, but now he smiled.


	11. 27th July 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wondering guys; would you prefer if I had more descriptive chapter titles to go along with the dates? I've been thinking of doing it for a while, just for ease of navigation.   
> Also, I'm not sure whether or not there will be an update next week. I'll see how I go. Work commitments might keep me too busy, but at the moment I'm crossing my fingers that I'll still have time.

27th July 1757

We were both eager to find Washington, Liam especially so, but before we could do anything we needed to meet up with the other Assassins, report our findings, and discover if any of our allies knew where Liam and I would be able to find our next target.

We had agreed to meet up with Achilles in a small settlement near Greystone; small enough that the place didn’t even have a name. Most of the settlers were Assassins or their friends and families. It was a pretty little village, and when Liam and I arrived we found it completely at peace.

Once again we saw to the Morrigan first, resupplying and repairing before we tracked Achilles down at a large town house overlooking the wide rivers that formed the surrounding area. Liam and I had been expecting to meet up with Achilles alone, but Hope and Kesegowaase had also joined us. It seemed as though every one of the higher ranking Assassins had been pulled in to assist with the manuscript’s recovery.

“The Templars desire to understand the nature of these artefacts,” Hope said as she paced backwards and forwards on the patio. “Their spies have called upon many doctors and other learned people in New York.”

“They have also approached many tribes with questions,” Kesegowaase added from where he leaned against a railing.

It seemed as though nobody knew how to read the manuscript, neither our allies nor our enemies.

“Yeah, they’ve been showing that manuscript far and wide,” Liam said, announcing our presence. “No one can read the strange writing or understand the images.”

Although I have no doubt that the other Assassins knew that Liam and I were approaching long before my friend opened his mouth, his words had them immediately alerted and energised, three sets of Assassin eyes immediately turning to focus on myself and Liam. My friend leaned against the porch railings, grinning at Hope and looking as cocky as ever and I joined him. If ever we had a reason to be cocky, it was now.

“We do have a name though,” Liam added.

“We learned that Lawrence Washington sent out the manuscript,” I finished for him.

“Lawrence Washington,” Achilles pondered aloud as he stood up from where he had been sitting, poring over some sort of old map. “Businessman, Virginian politician, and high-ranking Templar.”

“Ah yes,” Hope exclaimed. “I recently heard he was back from the West Indies. One of my men saw his major domo pick up a strange package.”

It was the exact sort of news that Liam and I needed to hear. I think we had been anticipating at least a few days rest before we set out again, but there was no time, not when we might be so close to finding Washington.

Hope and Achilles gave us the necessary information. The Templar in question had been seen not far from the nameless town in which we stood, boarding a ship named the HMS Protestant Caesar. If Liam and I hurried then it was possible that we could still catch him.

We raced back to the Morrigan and Liam and the men ensured that the anchor was hoisted in record time. We headed in the direction that Hope’s information had indicated, and soon enough we spotted the ship in question; the HMS Protestant Caesar, right where we had hoped she would be, and heading right into Templar and British patrolled waters.

The men let out a cry of triumph, which I echoed.

“If we’ve any luck, that ship will lead us right to Washington,” Liam remarked.

“I make my own luck Liam,” I reminded my friend “and Washington is running out of his.”

After all, it was not luck that had guided us to the HMS Protestant Caesar, but hard work and cunning. A man must own his victories, and his failures.

We followed the ship as closely as we dared. It wasn’t easy. The ship lead us through Templar territory, and I feared that at any moment we would be discovered as the Assassins that we were. The weather was on our side however. A thick blanket of fog began to settle on the river as the day waned, and while it made it harder to keep track of our quarry, it meant that it was much easier for us to blend in as well, and we were able to follow the ship completely undetected.

As we stalked the ship Liam stood at my side, and, as he was wont to do in those days, took the opportunity to remind me of every horrible thing that Lawrence Washington had ever done, as though he was still afraid that I might lack the resolve to kill the man if and when the time came. It wasn’t enough that he was a high ranking Templar; Liam reminded me of the slaves that he kept, of the power that he wielded, and confided in me his suspicions that the man had been involved in the theft of the artefacts in the first place.

That reminds me. I must find out whether or not he was. The fact that he had recently returned from the West Indies, so close to Haiti, did seem rather convenient at the time, and still does now. When this all comes out; when I hand this journal to a member of my Templar brethren, whether it be Gist or Monro or someone I cannot yet anticipate; I think that there will be many questions that I will wish to ask, seeing as I will no longer need to keep my past a secret. Assuming of course that they will want to answer my questions. When my Templar allies read this and find out what I have done, they may not wish to speak to me at all.

The ship lead us towards the settlement of Mount Vernon, where the Templars and their British allies had set up a naval blockade. There was no chance that the Morrigan would be able to sneak past them, and with so many ships against us we would be reduced to splinters if we tried to engage them in battle.

We pulled up at a nearby stretch of land. I was to follow the ship on foot, while Liam took control of the Morrigan. Hopefully he would able to find another way to Mount Vernon; one which was not blocked by so many blasted ships.

Before I disembarked Liam reminded me once more that Washington could not survive my encounter with him.

I agreed. By this stage I had already hardened my heart against killing.

I went ashore and ran after the ship on foot. By the time I made it to Mount Vernon I could see the HMS Protestant Caesar had already pulled safely into port and her men had begun the process of unloading its cargo.

I waited until most of them were off the ship before climbing on board. I thought that I might find the manuscript still stashed away with the rest of the cargo.

My search was in vain as far as the manuscript was concerned, but I did find one item of interest. Among the boxes that the Protestant Caesar had carried to Mount Vernon was a small shipment of rifles and other weaponry. The rifles were light and easy to carry.

As I was inspecting one of them an unfortunate member of the crew stumbled upon me. In my panic I fired the rifle in my hands, and discovered that the weapon was not only effective, but also remarkably quiet; almost silent.

The man I had shot dropped to the deck, his body completely limp, but I could not see any sign of blood. I moved over and leaned down to press a hand against his neck. He was not dead. Instead the rifle had fired a small dart; one which, it seemed, had put the poor sod to sleep.

The rifle was a technological marvel, and it seemed a shame to leave the ship without claiming at least one of them as my own. I grabbed one, as well as a few different-coloured packages of darts, thinking that such a tool would be invaluable in my work as an Assassin, and made my way back ashore, hoping that I would find some sign of Washington or the manuscript soon.

By the time I had finished on board the ship it was beginning to grow dark. I wandered restlessly for a while, getting a feeling for the small settlement that the HMS Protestant Caesar had lead me to. It was beautiful in its own way, the last light disappearing from the sky above me and painting the small town and all of its buildings with a beautiful lavender glow before the light disappeared altogether. I did not know how it was that I was going to find Lawrence Washington, but I was confident that I would find a way.

As I was strolling about I heard a swift whizzing noise, accompanied by a loud ‘bang’. I looked up in the air to discover the evening sky suddenly lighted by flashes of sapphire and gold. I had never seen fireworks before, but I had heard of their splendour. They certainly did not disappoint.

I let the fireworks lead me to an equally splendid manor on the outskirts of the town. It was a beautiful, walled complex with elaborate gardens, and seemed to be hosting one of the fanciest parties I had ever witnessed. I thought to myself that if Washington and his high-ranking Templar brethren were going to be found anywhere in Mount Vernon, then this was the place.

The fireworks continued to paint the sky above me all sorts of beautiful colours, but I could not stop and admire them for long. I had work to do, and the fireworks would make for an excellent distraction. Who would notice a lone figure sneaking into the manor when there was such an extraordinary display of beauty dancing above their heads?

It was far too easy to sneak into the party. There were plenty of guards stationed around the place, so it wasn’t as though the Templars had not prepared against an infiltrator like myself, but everyone was so caught up by the fireworks and by their fellow party guests that I passed unnoticed as I darted from shadow to shadow and hid behind the various bushes and decorative pillars of the estate.

I used a trellis in the garden to climb up onto the roof of the manor and darted across to the other side, where I could see several groups of well-dressed and important looking men conversing. I dropped down and hid behind a bush just in time to avoid being seen by a pair of men who passed nearby.

I glanced at them through the leaves of the plant I was hiding behind. It was not the first conversation that I had eavesdropped on at the party, but it proved to be the most important. I had a vague idea of what Lawrence Washington looked like; Liam and Achilles had made sure that I did; and I was reasonably sure that the larger and older of the two was the man that I had been trying to track down. His companion appeared a great deal younger and sported military attire, unlike Lawrence Washington, who was dressed as formally as any guest at the party.

“Brother,” the soldier murmured as he hovered around Lawrence Washington. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be in bed?”

Lawrence Washington was clearly unwell. In fact he was having trouble even standing up straight, and yet he waved away his younger brother’s concern as though his worries were completely unwarranted.

“I am fine George,” Washington said, although it did not escape my notice that he was leaning against a nearby table, letting it take most of his weight, and doing his best to look a lot stronger and healthier than he clearly was.

As I watched the two brothers another group of men separated from the nearby partygoers to join them. I think I recognised a couple of other high-ranking Templars, but I was not as sure of their identities as I was Washington’s. There was a larger man who was as finely dressed as Washington, but who carried himself as though he was little more than a servant, and a severe faced man whose eyes seemed to smile far more readily than his mouth did. I would come to know a lot more about these two in the coming days.

There was also a dark-skinned man who wore dark glasses, even though it was night time; a man I now consider a friend; Jack Weeks. Sometimes it is strange where our choices in life lead us. Perhaps if things had gone differently then I would have been forced to hunt him down as well and would have never had the chance to get to meet him. It is not a comforting thought.

As the other Templars approached, Lawrence Washington turned to address his brother.

“Be a good host for my sake,” he said, waving the younger man away. “Go to the wine cellar and get something special for our guests.”

“I will,” George Washington replied, nodding politely at the assembled Templars before walking off.

As soon as his brother was out of sight Lawrence Washington seemed to give up all pretence of being a healthy, strong individual and sat down on the nearest chair. He began to cough, his body shuddering with the effort, his breaths as gasping and laboured as those of a man already half way to his grave.

Once he had recovered enough to speak he looked up at his fellow Templars with pleading eyes.

“My brother is a bright spot in a troubled land,” he told them. “If I may make one request before I depart this life, please leave him in peace. He should have nothing to do with the troubles of the Templar cause.”

Suddenly my target did not seem like the wicked villain that Liam had painted him as. There he was, preparing to shed his mortal coil and seemingly caring only for the fate of his younger brother.

I could not give into sentiment. Liam had said it; Lawrence Washington needed to die, no matter how pointless such an idea seemed and no matter how close to death he already was. I needed to wait though, at least until the other Templars left him alone.

Jack, or rather, as I saw him that night, the dark-skinned man wearing glasses, nodded at Lawrence Washington.

“We all respect that sentiment sir,” he assured Washington.

“You have my thanks gentlemen,” Washington replied, before turning his attention to the largest member of the group.

“Master Smith,” he asked. “Are you ready to leave on your voyage?”

“Aye sir,” Smith replied. “I shall return with answers.”

“Master Wardrop,” Washington said, this time addressing the man with a sharp face, “are you likewise engaged with the manuscript?”

“Aye sir,” he replied, just as Smith had done. “We’ll soon know its meaning.”

“Then I bid you take your leave,” Washington told the group, who quickly dispersed.

It seemed as though Washington was co-ordinating the whole effort, but, unluckily for me, it did not seem as though the manuscript was still in Washington’s hands, or even at the party. I would need to follow the other Templars to locate the manuscript, but first I needed to deal with Washington. Liam would be furious if somehow I let the chance to assassinate such a high-ranking member of the Templars slip through my hands, even if it did seem as though Washington would soon be dead, either with or without my assistance.

The man doubled over in another coughing fit, and it almost seemed as though this one would never end. Beneath the coughing and the laboured breathing I thought I heard a sob or two, such pain was the man already in.

Eventually Washington got his breath back, got to his feet and headed back towards the rest of the party, where many of his guests were still mingling and talking to one another.

The fact that I was about to murder a dying man should have made my task easier. It did not.

Nothing about the assassination of Lawrence Washington felt right, yet nevertheless I followed him into the party, blended with the guests and tried to make myself look as inconspicuous as possible. I conversed with Washington’s guests, despite how shabby my clothing was in comparison, and used every trick Hope had taught me to make myself seem as friendly and harmless as possible.

I drifted between groups of people, sidling slowly closer to Washington. I waited for the perfect moment, and then plunged one of my hidden blades into his chest.

There is a strange thing that happens sometimes when I kill a person. It is as though the rest of the world falls away, and myself and my target are granted a moment of perfect clarity; of perfect understanding of one another and our intentions. I tried talking to Liam and Hope about this once, but neither of them had any idea what it was I was talking about, although Hope did suggest that it might be related to the use of Eagle Vision, considering how strong mine seems to be.

Lawrence Washington fell to the ground, bleeding slowly, but the rest of the garden party faded away. Nothing mattered but myself and this man, dying both from the disease inside of him and from the bleeding wound that I had left in the centre of his chest.

My target looked up at me and smiled.

“You are too late Assassin,” he told me.

“It’s never too late to ruin Templar plans Master Washington,” I replied.

In response he coughed again, this particular spasm bringing up a surge of blood with it. I couldn’t help but recoil at the sight.

“But my plans are already in motion,” Lawrence Washington surprised me by saying. When I looked down at the man I found that not only did he not look upset to be dying, somehow, despite everything, he was still smiling.

“Even leading you here,” Washington continued, pausing every so often as both coughing and his death rattles interrupted his speech, “has given my allies time to escape.”

He lay down then and he looked so at peace, as though he actually welcomed the death that I had granted him.

“Thank you for making my end a quick one,” he said.

“And thank you for revealing your master plan, you scheming snake,” I spat as I got back to my feet, trying in vain to convince myself that the man had needed to die. Liam would have wanted me to feel proud of what I had done, and I tried to. I honestly tried.

And with that Lawrence Washington died, and the stillness and understanding surrounding his death disappeared, to be replaced with screaming and cries of alarm as the party guests realised what had happened.

I tried to hate Washington as much as Liam seemed to, but no matter how I tried I couldn’t get the image of the sickly, dying man out of my head. There was no way around it. I felt awful for killing him.

It felt like a failure. What the hell had I accomplished by removing Washington from the world? Nothing, or less than nothing. And Washington’s companions still had both the box and the manuscript. Perhaps my only victory that night was in giving Washington a kinder death than the one that his sickness would have brought about.

I wanted desperately to redeem myself, to chase down Washington’s compatriots, but at that moment my mind was taken up entirely with fighting my way out of the garden party. Washington’s death had thrown the place into an uproar, and I clashed swords with more than a couple of men before I was safely out and able to begin searching for the other Templars.

I had barely begun however when the sound of cannon-fire caught my ears. I thought it might be coming from the docks, but climbing a tree and surveying the surrounding area revealed that Liam had managed to bring the Morrigan around to a secluded stretch of shore nearby. It was convenient in a way. After the uproar that I had caused at the Washington’s party, I needed to make a quick getaway.

What was less convenient was the fact that a couple of Templar vessels had spotted my ship and were doing their best to sink her.

I cursed and ran towards the Morrigan. Liam was making sure that the Morrigan and her crew held their own, but there wasn’t much that he could do against such large vessels, especially when they began to rain mortar fire down on top of everything else.

By the time I made it on board Liam had already shouted the order to haul sails, and we ran away from Mount Vernon and from the Templar fleet as fast as the Morrigan and the winds would take us.

Once we had successfully outrun the Templar ships and I judged that we were safe once more l I turned to Liam, who stood by my side on the quarter deck as he usually did.

“Lawrence Washington is dead,” I told him.

“You sound disappointed,” Liam immediately noted.

I **was** disappointed, both in myself and in whatever events had conspired to bring me to this point, and even in Washington, for being such a pitiful opponent.

And here is when I make a plea with whoever is reading this. There is little doubt in my mind that you knew Lawrence Washington, if only by reputation. Perhaps you were close. Perhaps you even considered him a friend. Despite what Liam had told me, he seemed like a decent enough man from what little I saw. He probably had plenty of friends and was well-liked by his fellow Templars.

My plea is this. I do not ask for forgiveness, for I find that I cannot forgive myself, even, or perhaps especially, now. I do however ask for understanding. I did what I had to; what I had been commanded to, and I wish now that it could be undone. Perhaps Lawrence Washington would have been dead soon, but that does not change the fact that he and so many others died by my hand.

I would undo it all now if I could, but I cannot. Judge me as you will, but know that I am not proud of the blood that stains my hands.

I told Liam what had happened; how sick Washington had been; how his comrades had escaped, possibly with the manuscript and box. He tried to comfort me, telling me that I had done the right thing, that we would be able to track down the artefacts another day, and that I should be proud of the chaos I had caused in the Templar ranks by removing Washington.

I was not comforted.


	12. 28th July 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During Shay’s time, very little was known about typhoid fever, including how it spread. Shay and Liam aren’t actually risking anything by visiting Achilles and Abigail as they do in this chapter, but they wouldn’t know that. ;)

**28 th July 1757**

Killing Lawrence Washington should have made a difference. It should have sown disorganisation and chaos among the Templars, or at least somewhat hampered their efforts, but that was not to be the case.

For months we followed up whatever leads we could find, and had little success. Every time it seemed as though we were making progress the Templars and their trail would disappear like smoke. It was frustrating, and I could tell that Liam shared my frustrations.

To make matters worse my standing with the Assassins did not improve at all. I thought that perhaps my having assassinated Washington would go some way towards proving myself to the others, but if anything the lack of progress regarding the box and manuscript seemed to have everyone on edge.

It did not help that tragedy was about to strike at the very centre of the Colonial Brotherhood.

Liam and I had stopped back at the Davenport homestead for what we had intended to be a short layover of a few weeks at most. We thought for sure that one of the others would have a new lead for us, and we’d be out of there as soon as we had resupplied, but that was not the case.

We could tell that something was wrong almost as soon as we arrived at the main homestead. Hope was standing on the manor’s front porch, her arms folded in front of her chest.

“Hope,” Liam called out, his steps quickening as we approached his lady-love.

She glanced up, but had barely moved away from the wall on which she had been leaning by the time Liam reached her. Liam moved as though to embrace her, but Hope denied him this display of affection and did not smile when she greeted either of us.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asked her.

I glanced around at the rest of the homestead. Usually the place was a hive of activity, as Assassins went to and fro, performing tasks or carrying out missions. On that day however, everything was quiet and subdued. It was as though even the birds in the trees feared to break the silence that had settled over the Davenport homestead.

“Connor is dead,” Hope replied, and my heart sank. Achilles made sure that his family had as little to do with the Assassins as possible, so I had not had much of a chance to get to know the child, but from what I had seen Connor had been a friendly and energetic young lad, and to make matters worse, he had only been seven years old.

Liam cursed beneath his breath and hung his head.

“How did it happen?” I asked Hope. The last time Liam and I had visited the homestead Connor had appeared to be in perfect health.

“Typhoid fever,” Hope replied. “He’s not the only one. Several of the other Assassins and settlers have either perished or shown signs of the illness over the last few weeks.”

“And the mentor?” Liam asked, nervously glancing up at the house.

“Achilles seems unaffected,” Hope answered. Liam had seemed ready to dash into the house, with no thought as to whether or not entering such a place might increase his own chances of catching the disease.

“His work with the Assassins has kept him occupied,” Hope continued, “so his wife Abigail tended to Connor in his illness. She is…”

She stopped mid-sentence, her shoulders dropping along with her grip on Liam’s sleeve, and she let out a loud, long sigh.

“Mistress Abigail is not doing well.”

“You don’t think she is going to share Connor’s fate?” Liam asked.

“I do. She has a few days left at most.”

My heart went out to Achilles then. Losing his son must have been hard enough, but to then watch his wife die on top of it all. It seemed like too much for fate to ask of one man. Perhaps it was.

Hope tried to dissuade the two of us from entering the sick house, saying that the last thing the Assassins needed was for the two of us to grow sick as well, but Liam would not be stopped, and if he was going to go inside to see Achilles and Abigail, then I was damned well going to accompany him.

We found Achilles kneeling by the side of Abigail’s bed. His head was bowed, and he clutched one of his wife’s hands between his own. You could tell that Abigail was in a bad way just by looking at her. She was asleep when Liam and I entered the room, but the shadows beneath her eyes were so deep, and her cheeks were so much more hollow than the last time I had seen her.

Achilles did not look up from Abigail, but he clearly knew that Liam and I had entered the room regardless.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the two of us before we could even announce our presence.

“Mentor,” Liam said. He approached Achilles and placed a hand gently on the older man’s shoulder. “Hope told us what happened to Connor. I wanted to talk to check on you and Abigail, see how you’re both doing.”

“Well, you should be satisfied then,” Achilles said. “You have seen how we are doing, and surely I do not need to explain to you that it is quite poorly. Now, you neglected to answer my question. What are you doing here? Don’t the two of you have a manuscript to find?”

“We do, but we haven’t…” I began, but Liam quickly waved at me to be silent.

“We killed Lawrence Washington,” Liam told Achilles.

“Good,” the mentor replied, packing so much hate and anger into that one word that for a moment I found myself somewhat afraid of the older man.

“We know that his Templar associates have the box and manuscript,” Liam continued, “but it will take some time for the two of us to track them down.”

“Then you should probably get to work,” Achilles told us, “and cease lingering in such a grief-stricken place.”

Liam and I looked to one another. We did not have any leads. We had returned to the Davenport Homestead because of this, and because we hoped that Achilles might be able to provide us with some much-needed advice. Looking at him then I began to suspect that he was not in any sort of state of mind to be providing anyone with advice.

“Mentor,” Liam began. “We don’t…”

“Whatever it is I am sure that the two of you are capable of figuring it out,” Achilles interrupted us. His tone was sharp, and let us know that there would be no arguing with him; not on that day.

“Now please, leave us,” Achilles added. “Abigail needs her rest.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on his wife’s sweat-soaked skin.

Liam and I looked at one another, and then retreated from Abigail’s sick room.

* * *

“I don’t like this,” I later told Liam, when the two of us had a moment away from the others. “Something is wrong with Achilles.”

“Of course something is wrong,” Liam snapped at me. “He’s lost his son, and he’s losing his wife as well. How could a man be anything other than wrong in his situation?”

“I know,” I replied, “and if Achilles was grieving then I might understand, but he it doesn’t seem as though he’s grieving; not really. He seems angry, as though he’s preparing to wage a war against God himself.”

Liam looked at me then and frowned, but I could tell that he was thinking over what I had just said.

He clamped a hand down on my shoulder.

“He’s not himself,” Liam told me. “Give it time Shay.”

* * *

That night we were alerted to Abigail’s passing by a pained howl that emerged from somewhere within Davenport manor and echoed throughout the homestead. Achilles’ grief to me sounded less like that of a man, and more as though it belonged to some vengeful demon who was seeking blood in payment for that which he had lost.

No-one was game to step foot inside the manor and comfort Achilles. No-one except Liam, who disappeared inside the manor and did not emerge again until daybreak.

Abigail’s funeral was a solemn affair. The local priest said a few words, but no-one else dared, not while Achilles was standing nearby with his hands clenched into fists, glaring not at the grave but at the ground, as though he was indeed about to declare war against whatever forces had conspired to steal his wife and son. Tears streamed down his face, but during the funeral itself he remained perfectly silent.

I could barely stand to look at him. He just seemed so broken and lost.

As soon as the funeral was over Achilles stalked back to his manor and slammed the door behind him. For hours later we heard the sound of his sobbing coming from the house.

* * *

I too found myself lost, although to a much lesser extent than I think Achilles was. I had no idea as to what it was that was expected of me. Achilles would not talk to anyone, and he was certainly in no state of mind to be co-ordinating the Assassins. Hope and La Vérendrye commanded their own groups of men, but Liam and I had nothing to do until we found a lead on the manuscript or Precursor box.

Liam entered the manor and attempted to talk with Achilles a couple of times, but I have no idea how successful these attempts were. He always emerged looking downcast, and refused to talk to me about whatever it was he and Achilles had said to one another while he had been inside the manor.

For years I had been teasing Liam about being Achilles’ favourite; saying that Connor might have been the mentor’s son, but Liam was his real favourite, and his heir. The jokes did not seem in good taste anymore.

The entire Davenport Homestead was as quiet as the two graves that now lay on top of the hill overlooking the harbour. Many of the Assassins that used to call upon the Homestead, or at least the ones who had survived the outbreak of typhoid fever now moved to New York where Hope commanded them. The homestead felt empty without them, and strangely uncomfortable, almost as though the ghosts of all those who had been stolen away by the illness still prowled the lands around Davenport manor.

Liam and Hope were at least able to find some sort of comfort in one another’s arms, and I found that I saw less and less of them as the months passed.

Meanwhile Achilles began to recover from his grief, or at least gave all the outward signs of doing so. He returned to his role as leader of the Assassins, albeit with some difficulty. His heart was clearly not in it anymore, or at least not to the extent that it once was, and sometimes it seemed as though he would burst into tears or begin shouting at people for no reason at all.

I could not fault him for grieving. I suspect that if I lost both my wife and child within a few days of one another, then I might not be as calm or rational as I had once been either.

I helped Liam and Hope where I could, and I trained, and all the while I waited for some sort of sign that things were going to change; that we had finally found some sort of viable lead on the Precursor box and manuscript, or the Templars that possessed them.

It wasn’t until months later that we received the news that we had been waiting for.

La Vérendrye’s work with Le Chasseur had born fruit. The two of them had a lead on the Precursor box. Liam and I shipped out on the Morrigan to meet with them as soon as we possibly could.


	13. 29th July 1757

I do believe it was during our journey to meet with La Vérendrye that Liam revealed to me the true purpose of the box and manuscript. Perhaps it was during the many hours that Liam sat with Achilles in his grief that the mentor revealed the truth to him. Perhaps Liam had already known. I do not know, but I do know that Achilles knew the truth of it all long before he chose to inform the rest of us.

And perhaps you who are reading this, whoever you are, already know about the manuscript and the box, and so my explaining it now will be meaningless, but perhaps not. Perhaps this is all just as new to you now as it was to me then.

The manuscript and box, you see, when used together, were said to point the way towards ancient Precursor sites of immense power. The Assassins, and, I assumed, the Templars, wanted to reach these sites in order to harness whatever mysterious power lay within. I had already heard tales of fantastical weapons; swords that could rouse the hearts of men, and Apples of Eden, ancient artefacts that could force those around you to carry out your will. I will admit that in those days I was more than a little curious as to what sort of artefacts the manuscript and box would lead us to.

We had arranged to meet with La Vérendrye at the port of Saint James. As far as I could tell the fort was little more than a freezing pit that offered passing vessels a safe place to refit and resupply. When we arrived we discovered that La Vérendrye’s ship, the Gerfaut, had been severely damaged. She was still afloat, but it was a close thing, and she was in no shape to venture out onto the open seas. It would take weeks and a lot of hard work to return her to the beautiful state in which La Vérendrye preferred to keep her.

Liam and I found our French comrade sitting on a crate near the port, taking large swigs from a suspect looking bottle. I don’t know what it was that La Vérendrye had been drinking, but as we approached him I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The man was already at least half way drunk.

Le Chasseur stood nearby, a couple of bottles of the same cheap alcohol placed by his feet, although judging by the fact that he was still capable of standing perfectly straight I did not think that he had imbibed nearly as much as La Vérendrye.

I don’t mind admitting that after everything La Vérendrye had put me though, when I saw the opportunity to revel in his own pain a little, I took it.

“Chevalier,” I greeted him. “What happened to your vessel?”

He didn’t even look up at me. Instead he took another long drink from the bottle in his hand.

“I got myself into a bit of a scrape,” he replied, sounding every bit as bitter as I had expected. “Sent three ships in all hands to their watery graves. The Gerfaut nearly followed them down.”

He went to take another drink from his bottle, discovered that it was empty and angrily threw it aside.

I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him. Chevalier de la Vérendrye was not as full of wrath as I had anticipated. Instead, seeing him so drunk and broken was almost disappointing. I suppose I could empathise with him, at least a little. After all, if I had been in his place and it was my beloved Morrigan that had been so badly damaged, I probably would have turned into a bitter, drunken wretch as well.

I turned my attention instead to La Vérendrye’s pirate ally, who was apparently content to simply stand back and watch La Vérendrye drink himself to oblivion.

“I trust your fate has been better Le Chasseur?” I asked.

“Indeed,” the pirate replied. “My sources informed me that Samuel Smith has searched far and wide looking for answers on how to make that strange box work. He just returned from New York.”

Le Chasseur grabbed the remaining couple of bottles from off the ground, tossed one to La Vérendrye who opened it with relish, and kept the second for himself.

“Where is Samuel Smith now?” I asked Le Chasseur.

“Refitting his schooner,” Le Chasseur replied with a grin. “If you hurry, you can catch him there.”

Le Chasseur grabbed a map from somewhere within his coat and tried to pass it to me, but before it had changed hands, La Vérendrye had jumped to his feet and snatched it out of Le Chasseur’s grip.

He stood there, taking a swig or two from his most recent bottle of alcohol as he gazed at the map. I contemplated snatching the piece of paper back, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead I stood behind La Vérendrye and tried to get a good look from over his shoulder.

Le Chasseur told us that Samuel Smith was travelling on board a ship named the Equitas. The map charted the Equitas’s last known location and projected course. He gave us all of her details, and told us all that he could about her movements. He was right. The Morrigan would hopefully be able to intercept the Equitas, but only if we made haste.

There was just enough time to resupply the Morrigan, and to fit her with a few new puckle guns that Le Chasseur had acquired for us as a gift, although I don’t think any member of my crew was sad to leave Saint James behind us so quickly.

As we made ready to leave we were granted another surprise to go along with Le Chasseur’s guns, although this one was far less pleasant.

I had not invited La Vérendrye onto my ship, much less asked him to accompany me on my pursuit of Smith, but he stumbled onto the Morrigan right as we were about to weigh anchor. He was still clearly drunk, and I cursed under my breath when he announced that he would be accompanying Liam and myself on our mission, but I refused to let La Vérendrye’s presence get to me. I was sure that he wanted me to be miserable, so I was going to be anything but. He did not make it easy though.

If I had thought that having La Vérendrye on board had been a pain in my arse the last time, he was even worse when he was drunk. He yelled his complaints about the Morrigan and her crew at the top of his lungs, complaining about her speed, her durability and anything else that came to mind. I am sure that the Morrigan was not as large or fast as his beloved Gerfaut, but I did not see how that gave him any right to be so disparaging.

“At least my ship is till seaworthy Chevalier,” I fired back in anger.

Eventually he began to sober up and get himself back under control, but I was already holding the Morrigan’s wheel so hard in my rage that I was afraid my fingers might leave indentations in the wood.

It wasn’t long before we spotted the Equitas, right where Le Chasseur had told us she would be.

“Lady luck never ceases to smile upon you Shay,” La Vérendrye commented, and I frowned.

It wasn’t luck. Despite how much La Vérendrye liked to put down my ship and my crew, it was skill and careful planning that had allowed us to catch the Equitas. Le Chasseur’s reports had been correct, and the Morrigan had made even better time than I could have hoped. That was why we had found the Equitas. Luck had nothing to do with it.

The three of us; myself, Liam and La Vérendrye, all knew that Samuel Smith was the man who controlled most of the Templars wealth. He was an important figure, and La Vérendrye argued that we should kill the man as soon as we possibly could.

I knew that we couldn’t however, and told my companions as such. After all, Lawrence Washington had entrusted Samuel Smith with the Precursor box. If he still possessed it and we fired upon the Equitas, then we might send it to the bottom of the ocean along with the ship and the high-ranking Templar on board.

We couldn’t risk it, or risk engaging with the Equitas at all. There was nothing for it but to follow the Equitas until it pulled into port.

The Equitas must have spotted us, because it changed its heading and turned towards the north. We kept pace with it, and all the while I wondered what the devil the captain was playing at.

Their plan soon became clear. The Equitas made for a large channel; one which had almost completely frozen over with ice. Rather than be deterred by the ice however it powered forward, cutting through the ice almost effortlessly.

“She’s hoping she’ll lose us,” Liam commented, turning to me and grinning. “Thinks either we’ll brave the ice and get ourselves caught, or that we’ll go the long way around and lose them completely.”

I returned his smile.

“If that’s what the Templars are hoping for then they’re in for an unpleasant surprise,” I replied.

La Vérendrye looked between the two of us, clearly unaware of the reason for our confidence. I called for full sails and Liam relayed the order, and the Morrigan charged after the Equitas at full speed.

I could see La Vérendrye growing concerned as we approached the massive sheet of ice. Little did La Vérendrye know that Liam and I had added a few very important upgrades to the Morrigan since he had last joined us on board. We had invested in some new cannons and upgraded the armour on her hull for a start, but the most crucial upgrade, at least as far as our current journey was concerned, was the addition of an ice ram on her hull.

This beautiful piece of modern technology meant that even a smaller ship like the Morrigan would be able to plough through ice sheets like those in front of us as though they were nothing. Considering how often my travels had taken the Morrigan and myself to the frozen north in recent months I had considered it a vital addition.

This was the first time that we had tested out the ice ram, and as we started to successfully cut through the ice the men let out cheers of triumph. Even Chevalier de la Vérendrye’s manner changed from fearful doubt to pleasant surprise. I could tell that he was impressed. Perhaps this ice ram would be the thing to finally get him to compliment the Morrigan. I was underestimating how much of an arse he could be though.

I let out another cheer as we cleared a particularly thick sheet of ice.

“Don’t waste time congratulating yourself,” La Vérendrye snapped in reply.

I found myself frowning, if only for a moment, but then I told myself that I would not let La Vérendrye’s terrible manner bring me down. The ice ram was a wondrous success, whether La Vérendrye was willing to admit it or not.

We continued the chase, the Equitas leading us to parts unknown. She was clearly desperate to be rid of us, but seemed as unwilling to engage in open combat as we were. I became more and more certain that the Precursor box must be on board the ship, and Smith and the ship’s crew were doing everything that they could to protect it.

As we continued to chase after the Equitas they began to drop flaming barrels of tar and pitch into the water behind them. The sea’s current made them drift towards us, and it took a lot of clever manoeuvring to avoid them. As it was one of them made contact with the Morrigan’s hull. The flames turned some of the rigging to ash, we lost one of our lifeboats, and her side was scarred by a nasty black mark and a few small holes that the men quickly patched up as best as they could.

Eventually the Equitas pulled ashore at a small island that appeared to be of little consequence, and which was situated many miles from any sort of settlement. We weighed anchor a little further down the shore. Samuel Smith and his allies knew that we were coming, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t still take him by surprise.

I left Liam and La Vérendrye on board the Morrigan and swam ashore. The island was covered in a thick blanket of snow, but there were still trees enough for my purpose. I took to them as soon as I possibly could, and travelled through them, just as Kesegowaase and the other Assassins had taught me, until I spied Samuel Smith’s encampment.

The Templar had wasted no time in preparing for my arrival. He had surrounded himself with guards and seemed to be yelling at them.

As I grew closer I soon realised he was not shouting at his men however, but at me. I was taken aback. I had been careful. It did not seem possible for him to have already spotted me. It soon became clear that his voice and the wild gesturing of his hands were not being pointed in my direction however, but rather at the clearing as a whole.

He was screaming and yelling at the whole island in an attempt to communicate with me. If an observer had not known about my presence then they might have thought Smith a madman.

“You will regret this!” he shouted. “Think about what you are doing, Assassin. Your brotherhood is using you!”

Smith knew that I was coming, but it was clear that he had no idea where I actually was, otherwise his men would have already shot me. I watched him for a moment, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the words that he was shouting. They were affecting me more than I would have liked to admit, poking at old scars that had barely begun to heal.

I frowned, forced myself to focus on the Templar, and waited for the perfect moment to strike. I could already tell that Samuel Smith would be an easy kill. His hand shook as he held a sword in front of him. Even if I hadn’t managed to sneak after him, I doubt he could wield the blade well enough to even injure me in a proper fight. It did not seem fair, but I forced myself to harden my heart, as I had learned to do all too well during my time with the Assassins.

As soon as the perfect moment arrived I leapt down on top of the Templar, my hidden blade plunging into his chest, right where I knew his heart would be.

Samuel Smith immediately fell to the ground, the Precursor box flying out from within the folds of his coat as he did.

“This cannot be,” Samuel Smith cried out as he reached for the box. Even in his death throes he was focussed only on protecting the damn thing.

I kicked it out of his reach. None of Smith’s guards moved to pick it up. I was in that strange in between land between life and death once more, trapped in an intimate moment with Smith right before mortality claimed him.

“No!” the Templar cried out, as though the loss of the box had hurt him even more than the blade which had plunged through his heart.

I leaned down and picked the box up. I remember thinking that it seemed so small for something which held so much power.

On the ground by my feet Smith did his best to crawl after me.

“Do you even known what that is?” he asked me.

“An ancient artefact,” I answered. “A treasure from those who came before.”

“Yes,” Smith gasped as death began to claim him, and then appeared to lose all will to fight. “It matters not.”

He paused, and began to cough up blood. My attack had skewered his lung as well as his heart. His death was not as quick and painless as I would have liked, but judging by how weak he was growing, and how difficult he seemed to find it to speak, it would not be too long regardless.

“Some of the greatest scientific minds of all Europe,” Smith continued, his breathing laboured and his words slow, “could not… make it… work…”

I had the box. I also had answers as to why it had taken us so long to track the blasted thing down. Smith had travelled to Europe to seek answers, and yet he still had not found any. I could already hear Liam’s voice telling me that we had scored a grand victory; that it was a time for optimism. It was perhaps easier to convince myself I was glad at Smith’s passing than it had been with Washington’s; after all, I had finally made progress after months of stagnation; but I was not glad. Victory against a man who could not hold his sword straight did not seem like a victory at all.

Regardless, I had other things to focus on. As Samuel Smith let out his last breath and his heart stopped beating once and for all, I was plunged back into the living world, and discovered that Samuel Smith’s guards were aware that I had killed him and had begun to surround me.

I had to kill a couple of them before I fled, heading back in the direction of the Morrigan. The guards chased me, but could not follow me through the trees and over the steep rocky surfaces that lay between themselves and my ship. By the time I reached my destination there were no guards in sight.

I passed the box to Liam and shook off some of the freezing cold water that clung to my jacket. As I expected my friend immediately tried to convince me it was a time for celebration, but I found I could summon no joy.

La Vérendrye was apparently hiding away in the cabin he had claimed as his own, nursing the last of what was proving to be a dreadful hangover, so at least I could voice my doubts to Liam without the French man overhearing.

“I don’t feel much like celebrating,” I tried to tell my friend. “I know we have to get these artefacts back, but at what cost? Samuel Smith could barely hold his sword straight. Killing him was…”

“Necessary,” Liam interrupted me.

“But,” I began, about to say that Samuel Smith had never done anything against the Assassin cause. The man was a glorified paper pusher, for god’s sake, but I was not allowed to say more than that single word before Liam was interrupting me once more.

“But nothing!” Liam snapped. “Smith was a dangerous man, a Templar, and what’s worse he had the Precursor box. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded, realising that there would be no point in arguing with Liam, not in his current mood.

Needless to say, I was not proud of myself, and I was beginning to find it very hard indeed to pretend that I was. I could no longer convince myself that I believed everything Liam was telling me.


	14. 31st July 1757

**30 th July 1757**

The next time the Morrigan pulled into port we bid farewell to La Vérendrye. We also received word that Hope wanted to meet us in Albany. The message did not say why, but Liam seemed optimistic that Hope would have word of James Wardrop for us. We heard also of a political conference that was due to be held at Albany in a few days’ time. I regret that I did not pay much attention to such things at the time, but looking back on it now, I can say that it was a gathering of some significance that signalled the beginnings of the war with the French in which we I now find myself embroiled.

Liam and I did not care about such things however, or waste any time discussing them. As far as we were both concerned the only tasks of any importance that might be waiting for us in Albany was the assassination of James Wardrop, and the recovery of the Precursor manuscript.

And of course, as we approached Albany, Liam made sure that he did everything within his power to convince me that James Wardrop was an absolute monster. He told me of the native tribes that James Wardrop had forced off their land, as though every man of standing in the colonies has not, in their own small way, been guilty of the same thing. He told me also of the laws that James Wardrop bent to suit his own needs, Liam’s old hatred of politicians still as strong as it had ever been. We were not even sure that I would need to kill James Wardrop, or that he would be at the conference, but Liam was not taking any chances.

I listened to every word that he said to me, and I tried to believe in them, and in my friend. I was sure that he was telling the truth, and yet I could not shake the feeling that killing James Wardrop would probably feel just as distasteful and unnecessary to me as killing both Washington and Smith had.

When we pulled into port I saw to the needs of the Morrigan and her men while Liam ran off to find Hope. I took my time, wanting to give Liam and Hope as much time alone together as they needed. It had been a few months since they had last seen one another after all. At least, I told myself that was why I stayed with the Morrigan. In truth I was not looking forward at all to potentially having to kill another Templar.

Eventually I ran out of excuses to stay with the Morrigan and her crew, and headed off in search of my friends. They had clearly been talking for a while when I arrived, and Hope was so enraptured with whatever it was that Liam had been saying that she did not notice my arrival, and I accidentally startled her when I placed a hand on her shoulder in greeting.

“You’re here,” she said, sounding rather more surprised than I would have expected of an Assassin. We were always supposed to be alert and aware of our surroundings after all.

“The Congress is still in session,” she continued. “George Washington and his militia have fired on French troops under Jumonville. The French are calling it an act of war.”

At the time I did not know how important that first act of war would turn out to be. All I could think of was the name Hope had mentioned; George Washington. I had known Lawrence’s brother was a high-ranking member of the military, and it seems as though his importance in such matters is only increasing these days, but at the time all I could picture was the concerned face of a young man as he watched his elder brother slowly fading away thanks to the illness that ate at him.

“You mean Lawrence’s younger brother?” I asked Hope, barely able to believe it.

“Yes, it’s the same,” Hope confirmed. “Speaking of Lawrence Washington, since you eliminated him, James Wardrop has moved up the ranks. All the Templar resources are at his disposal now.”

So my target had become one of even more significance than before. I was under no delusions. It was not as though I was going after the Grandmaster himself. No, by all reports the Colonial Grandmaster had not been seen in the colonies for months at that stage, and Lawrence Washington and James Wardrop were only leading in his absence, and were, of course, in charge of the operation involving the Precursor box and manuscript.

“What about the manuscript?” I asked Hope.

“My sources in New York confirm that Wardrop has it,” Hope replied. “I also learned that he is here, at the congress, under heavy guard.”

Liam’s guess had proved correct. He would undoubtedly view the news as good, although I was probably not as excited by Hope’s revelation as I was expected to be.

Liam had remained silent while Hope and I talked, but at that moment he turned to me.

“Shay, find Wardrop,” Liam told me. “Get that manuscript.”

No matter how I looked at it, Liam’s words were nothing more or less than an order. My friend had dismissed me. It stung, but I nodded nevertheless and made to leave.

“This place is thick with Templar troops,” Hope added before I could leave. “Liam and I will make sure Wardrop doesn’t escape.”

I was sure that the two of them wanted to spend as much time alone together as they could. Since the outbreak of typhoid fever in the homestead Liam and Hope had been closer than ever. It felt as though the two of them had dismissed me all too easily, but I could hardly begrudge my friends wanting to spend a little bit of time alone without me. Or at least, I tried not to begrudge them this, but I was all too aware of the fact that I was growing slightly jealous of the both of them, and of their bond.

I took my time as I wandered around Albany. It was easy enough to find my way to the buildings in which the congress was taking place. It seemed as though nearly every person in the colony was interested in the political meeting in one fashion or another.

I soon found a rather large gathering of people. They were all watching a man on a raised platform in front of them as he orated rather passionately. He was trying to convince his audience of the importance of the colonies joining together to create one government, and doing a remarkably good job of it. Even though I was in the crowd for a reason other than the man’s speech, I found myself taken in by his words.

At the time I was aware of the speaker only by reputation, but before long I would come to know him rather a lot better. His name was Benjamin Franklin, and he had a way of speaking that made you want to listen. From the time I have spent with him I can also report that he is a friendly, intelligent individual, although not, perhaps, as observant as you might expect of such an academically minded man.

As I stood there amongst the crowd, enraptured by Benjamin Franklin’s words, I spotted one of James Wardrop’s allies. William Johnson, another high-ranking Templar, was also in the crowd, and appeared to be just as absorbed by Franklin’s speech as anyone there.

When Franklin had finished Johnson applauded the loudest, and immediately moved towards the podium to greet Franklin as he stepped down. I kept a close eye on Johnson, thinking that he might eventually lead me to James Wardrop, or that he himself might actually be in possession of the manuscript or know where to find it.

“A rousing speech, Mister Franklin,” Johnson commented as he fell into step alongside Benjamin Franklin. “But do you truly believe Great Britain will grant her colonies autonomy?”

The two began to walk off together and I followed them, careful to stay far enough back that they would not spot me. As they walked they continued to discuss Master Franklin’s speech for a short while, before Johnson swiftly changed the subject.

“Let us leave politics for another day,” Johnson said. “I wanted to thank you for your research.”

This peaked my interest. What sort of research could Benjamin Franklin possibly be doing for the Templars? The answer seemed obvious to me at once. Benjamin Franklin had been assisting them either with translating the manuscript or with trying to work out the secrets of the box.

I continued to follow along after them, hoping that I would hear more. They did not make it easy for me. Templar presence around the congress was a lot heavier than that of my Assassin brethren. It appeared that the other side paid a lot more attention to politics than Achilles’ brotherhood did.

“Of course,” Benjamin Franklin said, somehow making even those two simple words sound so passionate and genuine.

And here I must take a moment to address whoever it is that may be reading this; if you have not had the good fortune to converse with Master Franklin I highly recommend seeking him out or at least finding an opportunity to watch him speak. The man is a brilliant orator, in possession of a magnificent mind, and quick to make friends.

But I should return to my tale.

“In the brief time I could examine that box,” Franklin said, and by this stage I was sure that I had stumbled across something grand, and actually growing quite excited, “I could tell that it was something unique. From Ancient Egypt you said?”

Master Johnson nodded in response to this.

“Well,” Franklin continued, “as I mentioned in my letter, I am quite ready to electrify it.”

At this stage I had no idea of Master Franklin’s experiments, and no idea what it was that he might be talking about. All I knew was that Master Franklin suddenly seemed a lot more excited about their topic of conversation, and eager to proceed with whatever it is he and Johnson had arranged.

“Excellent,” Johnson replied, looking just as pleased. “We will have the box delivered shortly. As for the manuscript…”

Master Johnson paused and gestured to a nearby British officer who had been standing close by for the latter part of the conversation.

“Captain!” Johnson called, and the man came scurrying over.

He hung his head, and looked rather nervous as he approached the high-ranking Templar.

“I apologise sir,” the British officer began, “but Master Wardrop refused to hand it over. He said the risks were too great.”

I frowned. Apparently Wardrop at least had anticipated that we might be coming for him and the manuscript.

“The risks?” Johnson exclaimed, before letting out a cry of frustration. He shook his head and then turned to Benjamin Franklin once more.

“I apologise,” he told Master Franklin. “You will have the manuscript and the box in the briefest of delays.”

Master Franklin nodded politely in return and began to walk off, but before he left he fixed the officer who had delivered the bad news with a less than friendly glare. Clearly he had been looking forward to getting his hands on the manuscript.

As soon as Franklin was out of earshot, Johnson turned his attention to the officer once more and offloaded all of his anger and frustration on the poor man.

“You mangy excuse for a uniform!” he hissed, leaning in close as he did. “Run to Fort Frederick and tell Master Wardrop he had better cough up the manuscript post haste, else I will have him scalped!”

The officer nodded and then ran off as fast as his legs could carry him. I followed him, knowing that ideally I would be able to stop the man before he reached Wardrop and took the manuscript. I sprinted and jumped across the rooftops, until I found the perfect spot and pounced on the poor man, my blade sinking deep into his neck.

I now knew where to find Wardrop, and Fort Frederick stood almost directly in front of me. I had stopped the messenger just in time. Any closer to the fort and my kill would surely have been spotted by the men stationed there.

With the messenger out of the way I turned my attention to the fort itself. Both Johnson and the manuscript lay somewhere inside. Fort Frederick was not particularly large, and was old enough that the wall had begun to crumble in places, the broken and uneven stonework making for an easy climb.

I scaled the walls easily, but as soon as I was inside it was a different matter. Fort Frederick was not large, playing host to only a few dozen troops at the time, but nevertheless a couple of them spotted me as soon as I stepped foot on the rampart.

I dispatched them as quickly and quietly as I could, before looking around for my target. I soon spied James Wardrop speaking to a nearby soldier and slowly approached.

Whether my fight with the soldiers had alerted him, or whether it was my slinking towards him, James Wardrop immediately looked up, his eyes fixing on mine. All was still for a couple of moments, and then the man began to run.

There was nowhere for him to go though. I stood between James Wardrop and the entrance of the fortress’s doors. I ran after him along the wall of the fortress, and leaped down on top of him, plunging my blade into his chest, just as I had done with Samuel Smith. I hoped that this time my target would die quickly, or that he might give me some reason to not immediately regret his death.

The man was still holding the manuscript in his hands, and I grabbed it from him before he had even finished falling to the ground, not wanting to get the precious book covered in Wardrop’s blood.

“No!” he cried out, trying to reach for myself and the manuscript, despite the blood that was flowing out from the wound in his chest and staining his clothes.

We had settled into that strange place between life and death again. He did not have long to live; seconds only; and yet he fought just as hard to reclaim the artefact as Samuel Smith had with the box.

“You have no idea what you’re doing fool!” James Wardrop spat at me.

“I’m keeping the people free from your control,” I told Wardrop as I tucked the manuscript into my coat. That was at least what Liam had tried to convince me I was doing.

“How free will you be when the French undermine these squabbling colonies?” Wardrop argued.

“These colonies would be far better off without the Templars pulling the strings,” I spat back, trying to pretend that he didn’t have a point. The French or the Templars; from my point of view they both seemed just as bad as one another, and just as nebulous and distant an enemy.

James Wardrop could not have had much life left in him, and yet he used his dying moments, his very last bits of strength, to continue arguing with me.

“We bring order from chaos,” he declared. “If everything is permitted, no-one is safe.”

I tried to pretend that the words had not gotten to me. I tried to pretend that they had not made more sense to me than everything that Liam had been saying to me of late. It did not work, and in my anger I leaned down to glare at James Wardrop.

“Even the devil can quote scripture to suit his own purposes,” I hissed at him, but the quote was lost on him.

James Wardrop was already dead.

* * *

And so there you have it. The truth. I was responsible for…

No, that is putting it too mildly. Best to say it straight, without any mucking around. I killed Lawrence Washington, Samuel Smith and James Wardrop. I have no doubt that if I was given enough time with them I would come to realise that they were all excellent men in their own right, and did not deserve to die, by my hand or by any other.

Alas, my tale is far from over, and there are more important events that I must still recall; ones that weigh on my conscience even more than the deaths of Washington, Smith and Wardrop.


	15. 31st July 1757

**31 st July 1757**

James Wardrop’s words haunted me, along with everything that Lawrence Washington and Samuel Smith had said as they had died. As I returned to the Morrigan I felt so uncomfortable. I could no longer pretend that I believed in the Assassin cause, and feared what Liam would have to say to me if I voiced my doubts.

I found my old friend waiting for me on the docks by the Morrigan. He did not have any words of congratulations though, and did not insist that I should be happy, which was a small blessing. He took one look at the manuscript and then informed me that Hope had already left for the town of Sleepy Hollow with the box, where I was to meet with both her and Benjamin Franklin.

I wondered what they would have done if I had not killed James Wardrop and recovered the manuscript. It seems that they had simply assumed that I would get it back, and had given no thought to a contingency plan.

My heart was heavy as we headed for Sleepy Hollow. It was only a short voyage, but it felt as though it took twice as long as it should have. Liam was strangely quiet throughout the journey, and only the sound of Ford leading the crew in a round of shanties served to lift my spirits.

By the time we neared Sleepy Hollow I found myself actually feeling optimistic for once. After all, we had the box and the manuscript. With any luck I would not be asked to kill anymore Templars any time soon. The change would be a welcome one.

* * *

The sky grew dark as we pulled into the small port attached to Sleepy Hollow. To my surprise Liam passed the box and manuscript back to me and announced that he was going to stay with the Morrigan while I went off in search of Hope and Master Franklin. Considering how close my friends had been of late I had felt sure that he would have wanted to see Hope once more, but clearly I was wrong.

“I’ll give Hope your love shall I?” I suggested with a wink in Liam’s direction.

He shoved me playfully and gave me a grin.

“Someone has to look after the ship and the men with the weather as rough as it is,” Liam pointed out. “Now go on, go and complete your mission Shay.”

It did not take me long to track down Benjamin Franklin’s estate. The entire settlement was thrilled that the famed scientist and politician was staying with them, and the very first group that I talked to was able to point me in the right direction.

The house was a large one, located on the highest hill in the settlement. When I approached I spotted Hope waiting near the front of the house, but saw no sign of Benjamin Franklin.

“You’re late,” she told me.

I frowned. I had not been aware that I had been expected at a specific time, and we had made the best time in the Morrigan that we possibly could have. Hope must have expected me to track down the manuscript almost immediately after leaving herself and Liam.

“The sky is getting temperamental,” Hope added with a glance up at the sky, where dark clouds were making the late afternoon sky as dark as midnight. Thunder rolled overheard. A storm was about to unleash it’s fury on Sleepy Hollow.

“That’s not the only thing, is it?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. To my relief my comment actually prompted the smallest of smiles from Hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something at least.

At that moment Master Franklin came rushing from somewhere within his estate and past the two of us, apparently in some distress.

“Master Franklin sir,” I called out as I chased after the man. “My name is Shay and this is my associate Hope.”

My introductions were all but ignored. Franklin paused to look at the two of us for only a moment before continuing on his way, and said nothing to either of us. Hope and I chased after him while I wondered what on earth could have the man so flustered.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out the box and manuscript from where they had sat, nestled safely away in the pockets inside my clothing.

I had assumed that once Master Franklin saw the box and manuscript I would immediately have his attention. After all, he had seemed quite enthusiastic about the artefacts when he had been talking to William Johnson. I was disappointed however. He barely paused to look at them at all before he was shaking his head at the two of us.

“Willliam Johnson told us to give you these,” I said, trying to pass the artefacts to the older man, having decided that it would be easier to pretend to be the Templars Master Franklin had been expecting, rather than sway the man to the Assassins’ cause.

“Thank you,” Master Franklin said without taking them from me. “But I’m afraid I must delay my experiment.”

“Delay it?” Hope asked, sounding even more upset by the delay than Master Franklin himself. “Why?”

And then Master Franklin explained what had happened. The French presence in the colonies had everyone on edge. With war looming on the horizon the local militia had confiscated anything that they thought would help their cause, including a large portion of Master Franklin’s equipment.

Among the equipment that had been confiscated were what Master Franklin referred to as ‘lightning rods’, crucial devices if he was to electrify the box as he had been hoping to. I didn’t know what these rods looked like, or what use the militia thought they might be, but after a very brief discussion it was decided that I would retrieve the rods from the militia while Hope helped Master Franklin prepare his experiment.

I doubted that the militia would be willing to simply give me the rods, even if I explained to them how important and valuable they were. After all, they had taken them from a man as great as Benjamin Franklin, and he was surely a better orator than I, and while the militia’s presence in Sleepy Hollow was substantial, they were spread out with no sort of central location. If I was going to find the warehouse in which the rods had been stored, then I would need to be crafty.

I soon spotted a soldier carrying some other confiscated equipment and followed him at a distance, hoping that he would lead me to Master Franklin’s lightning rods.

My intuition proved correct. The soldier lead me on a merry old chase, but eventually he entered a large red barn that had been conscripted into service by the local soldiers as a warehouse for all of their confiscated equipment. I waited until the soldier had left the barn and then slipped into the building to search for the lightning rods.

Master Franklin had only given me the briefest of descriptions, and I must admit that for a moment I was worried I would not be able to find them amongst all of the weapons and machinery that had been stored there. I soon spotted five long metal poles resting against the back of the barn however, and knew that I had found my target.

The rods were quite heavy. I had intended to sneak out of the barn and away from the British soldiers without causing too much of a fuss or getting into a fight, but that certainly wasn’t going to be easy while carrying such cargo.

Somehow I managed it, mostly by keeping as large a distance as possible between myself and any soldiers, and by making sure I looked confident and busy as I walked through the settlement of Sleepy Hollow. It’s amazing what behaviour people will be willing to forgive if you simply look as though you are supposed to be doing what you are doing and do not slink around in the shadows like a guilty man.

I was still not sure what exactly these rods did, or how they would help Master Franklin bring the box to life, but I knew that I much preferred a retrieval mission like this to ending another Templar’s life.

As I made my way back to Master Franklin’s house the storm broke. The wind howled, rain nearly as cold as ice lashed at my coat as I ran, and lightning lit up the sky again and again.

When I approached the house it was Benjamin Franklin who spotted me first.

“Shay!” he cried out as he ran towards me. “Thank goodness. Quick, help me with the rods.”

The scientist quickly recruited me to assist him in setting up the strange equipment I had recovered for him. We placed the rods upright in the soft, damp soil next to Benjamin Franklin’s house while Hope stood nearby, at a table that had been set up under cover of the house’s awning.

As each lightning rod was placed in the ground Benjamin Franklin screwed a brass spherical object onto the top of each. The rods then telescoped out to reach almost twice the height that they had originally been.

We moved quickly, darting back under the awning beside Hope, and I stared out at the lightning rods, wondering exactly what was going to happen. I knew the basic idea; the rods would attract lightning from the storm, and would then somehow channel the awesome power of the lightning into the box, bringing it to life. It all seemed like magic to me, and as Benjamin Franklin darted backwards and forwards, adjusting things and connecting wires to one another I could do little more than stand back and stare in wonder.

Lightning struck one of the rods with a loud crash and a flash of nearly blinding light, but nothing happened. Benjamin Franklin was still in the process of setting everything up. The box lay on the centre of the table, surrounded by Master Franklin’s various equipment. I wondered whether we would truly see it come to life.

Lightning crashed down nearby us a second time. Wind whipped all around us, throwing Franklin’s papers up in the air and condemning them to the torrents of cold water that fell down from the sky.

Master Franklin had just finished connecting all of the equipment together when a third flash of lightning arced down through the sky and entered the lightning rod. A blast of energy travelled through the wires and into the box on the table faster than a man could blink, the power of it throwing Master Franklin back from the table and onto the floor.

For a moment I was terrified that Master Franklin’s experiment had killed the poor man, but then he let out a groan and pushed himself up on his hands. He looked a little shaken up, but did not appear to be badly injured.

Meanwhile, the box had come to life. On the middle of the table in front of Hope and myself a blue globe had appeared. It was as though it was made out of light itself, and I found myself staring at it as it spun slowly above the Precursor box.

The globe was perfect in detail, and while there were several inconsistencies with my own naval charts, I could not shake the feeling that what we were staring at was the world as it actually existed. Aye, I would dearly like the chance to look at that globe once again, to see New Holland and the outlines of the arctic mapped out with such clarity, if it was not for the fact that I already know the true power of the box and the significance of the map contained within.

You see, the map also displayed a dozen or so bright pinpoints of light that radiated out from the globe. I realised that those points of light must indicate the Precursor sites of power that the Assassins seemed so desperate to locate.

“Where is that?” Hope asked, pointing to one pinpoint of light that was radiating out from somewhere in Europe.

I moved closer to the globe, leaning in so that I could get a better look. The tutorship that I had received under my father on board the Cyrene meant that I could tell almost immediately that the marked location was somewhere in or near Portugal.

Something strange happened as I looked more closely at the globe however. I saw flashes of a grand city by the sea; one that I recognised from having visited it several times, and then my view became even more specific; a convent in the middle of the city; one with a stained glass window depicting a great tree.

I recognised not only the city, but the church as well, and then I was back with Hope and Benjamin Franklin in Sleepy Hollow, and the flashes of sight and knowledge had passed to me in less than an instant.

“Portugal,” I announced. “Lisbon, I’d stake my life on it.”

Hope did not question how it was that I could be so sure, at least not at that moment. She simply nodded at me.

“Make yourself scarce Shay,” she told me. “The militia will be here any minute.”

She had a point, and one that I had not thought of. The explosion that we had created would have been seen by all of Sleepy Hollow, and after I had stolen Master Franklin’s lightning rods I would not want to be anywhere in the vicinity when said militia came to investigate.

“What about you?” I asked, worried for Hope’s safety.

“I’m a devoted housekeeper,” she replied. She had already leaned down and was in the process of helping Master Franklin back to his feet.

The scientist did not look well, but I could not afford to stay around to make sure that he would be all right. I would just have to trust his care to Hope.

“Right,” I said, nodding at the two of them before running off.

* * *

I spent the rest of the night on board the Morrigan. When I woke the next morning I found that Liam had disappeared, and that Hope had taken his place on board my ship. She had also brought the Precursor box and manuscript with her.

“Liam has his own mission,” she assured me. “The two of us should report back to Achilles at the Homestead.”

I nodded and we headed off, although I must admit that I felt rather anxious to be leaving Liam behind, no matter what his mission might be. Ford took up his place as first mate, at least for the duration of this one, short voyage.

As we sailed Hope and I discussed what had happened with the box.

“How can you be so certain about Lisbon?” she asked me. "The globe was quite small.”

I realised then that for whatever reason Hope had not been granted the same vision that I had. I tried to explain what had happened to her, expecting her to dismiss my words as the ramblings of a madman, only for her to nod her head slowly as I spoke. I suppose I should not have been surprised. All of the Assassins knew about Eagle Vision and the strange power that the Precursor artefacts held, after all.

“As long as you’re sure,” she said, although I could tell that she was not convinced.

* * *

We returned to the homestead and immediately reported our findings to Achilles. As soon as he discovered that I had not only been granted a vision of the location in which we were to find the Precursor site, but that I was also already familiar with the city in question, Achilles gave the task of locating the site and the artefact within, to me.

The next few days were spent organising the trip. My beloved Morrigan is alas not of a size to be making a full crossing of the Atlantic, at least not in her current condition. Perhaps with a few upgrades and a larger crew I might consider it one day, but back then it certainly wasn’t a possibility.

It took us some time to arrange for the use of a more sturdy ship out of New York. I would be captaining it, but the crew would not be my own. The Morrigan, and her crew, would be staying at the colonies. Hope promised me that she would take good care of my ship in my absence.

Eventually the time came for my departure. Achilles and Hope were there to see me off.

“Lisbon is nearly as large as London or Paris,” Hope said, voicing her worries to me once more. “Are you sure you can find this one place?”

“I saw it as clear as day Hope,” I told her. “It’s a convent right close by the harbour. I might have visited the sisters once or twice.”

Once again I found myself trying to lighten up Hope’s mood with a joke, and this time I had even less success. Hope was still clearly anxious on my behalf, and undoubtedly still questioned my ability to complete the task that I had been assigned. She rolled her eyes at me, but said no more.

“You understand what must be done?” Achilles asked me, not for the first time.

“Find the Precursor temple, and retrieve the Piece of Eden,” I replied. It seemed, at least in theory, to be a simple enough task.

“Have no worries,” Hope told me. “I will keep the Morrigan safe in New York.”

“Thank you,” I said, placing a hand on Hope’s shoulder.

We lingered a while longer, Achilles warning me to take care with whatever relict I might find in the Precursor temple. Liam had kept himself busy with whatever mysterious mission Achilles had assigned him with, but I think that I was still expecting him to join me again before I headed to Lisbon. It was one thing for the two of us to be assigned separate missions for a few days; another for me to be without my first mate for the months it would take to make the crossing to Lisbon.

During that conversation Achilles confirmed my anxieties regarding my friend. He would not make the journey with me. I would have to complete this mission on my own.


	16. 2nd August 1757

**2 nd August 1757**

It has taken me a long time to reach this part in my tale. Unlike the retelling of my father’s death, I think I have prepared myself sufficiently in order to write this time. Admittedly it has taken me a while to steel my spirits, as well as a healthy helping of actual spirits at the insistence of my first mate. I do worry about the amount of alcohol Gist consumes, but I must admit that at moments like this it can rouse a man’s spirit and steady his resolve.

The events that occurred next, and which severed my attachment to the Assassin cause once and for all are still enough to shake me to my core now, and recalling them makes my hands shake and brings tears to my eyes. You shall see why very soon, and I am sure that you will not judge me poorly for being so affected.

I still find it hard to fathom that I ever played a part in something so monstrous, or that Achilles and my supposed friends among the Assassins could find it so easy to ignore my fears and cast me aside.

The ship that the Assassins had hired pulled into Lisbon on the 1st of November, 1755. It was the Feast of All Saints. If you are reading this now then undoubtedly you will have some idea of what I am about to tell you, although I doubt that you could have ever guessed the dreadful part that I played in such a tragedy.

I remember being in a good mood. We had made good time during the crossing, and while I was not with the Morrigan and my men the larger ship and her larger crew had been kind enough to me. I had no friends among them, but as a full-fledged Assassin I did command a certain amount of respect.

I had fond memories of Lisbon as well. We had pulled into port there several times when I had been serving on board the Cyrene with my father, and I had made a few friends in the city, including the sisters that I had mentioned to Hope.

And here is when I confess that I had not been lying at all when I had mentioned my association with the sisters. We had stayed in Lisbon for a couple of weeks to allow the men to enjoy themselves and rest up, and during that time the sisters of a particular convent had made me feel very comfortable and welcome indeed. I must also confess that even though I had spent a lot of time in the convent during my previous visits, this would be the first time that I had ever actually stepped foot inside the church itself, and it would not be to converse with God.

The ship needed to restock and see to a couple of repairs. I organised the most basic of these before heading off into the city. I planned to take care of my mission for the Assassins first, and then see to lodgings and trading. I had intended to give the crew and myself a few days of rest in Lisbon before we had to set out again, but as you will soon find out, that plan of mine never came to pass.

I made my way directly to the church that the box had shown me, my feet taking me there almost instinctively, as though it had only been weeks and not years since I had last been in the city. As I approached the church I contemplated whether or not I should visit the convent and the most excellent sisters that lived within. The Mother Superior had been none too happy with me the last time that I had tried to visit the girls, and had yelled at me in a rather threatening and blasphemous manner. Perhaps it would be worth it, but I needed to finish my business with the Precursor site first.

As I approached the church I found myself simply standing there and admiring it for the longest time. It is, or rather, was, a grand old building, one of the finest churches I had ever laid eyes on. Flowering vines of pink and green tried their most valiantly to overwhelm the walls of the church, but only served to enhance its beauty. It is hard to explain, but there was something else as well; something so very strange and overwhelming about that building on that day; a sort of magic to it that I would have sworn had not existed before. Perhaps part of me could sense the Precursor site that lay below, or perhaps I could just finally appreciate the beauty of the church itself without worrying about the beauty of the girls in the convent nearby.

As I walked inside the church I discovered that the interior was no less beautiful. My eyes were immediately drawn to the large stained glass window that stood near the back of the church. Looking down on the church goers was not the benevolent or judgemental eyes of one of the saints or angels, but a depiction of a large tree, its roots digging deep into the earth just as its branches reached for the sky. It was this stained glass window that I had seen in the vision the box had granted me.

There could be no doubt about it. I was in the right place.

A small group of people had gathered near the altar, and were listening to a priest’s sermon. I paid them no heed, and none of them turned to look at me as I surveyed the church. Normal sight did not reveal anything too strange about the building, but switching to Eagle Vision revealed a series of triangular symbols near the top of the church that seemed to glow when I focused on them. They lay out of reach for a normal person like the innocent church-goers, but would surely prove accessible to someone who had been trained by the Assassins in climbing, as I had.

I glanced over at the small congregation to make sure that no-one was watching me, and then began to climb the wall, finding that the ornate carvings in the church made for excellent foot and handholds. The triangular symbol that I had seen glowing in Eagle Vision proved to be part of a carved stone plaque embedded in the wall. A smaller, less elaborate version of the stained glass window depicting a tree sat above the carving as well.

After close examination I found that there was a hole just large enough to fit my hidden blade. Between the markings visible only in Eagle Vision, the placement of these locks and then this small detail it felt as though this puzzle had been prepared specifically to be solved by someone like me. Perhaps the Assassins had been the ones to hide this Precursor site away in the first place, or perhaps it was just destiny, although what a shite destiny mine would prove to be if what happened in Lisbon was inescapable.

I pressed down on the mechanism near my wrist, slotting the blade into place. It fit perfectly, but nothing happened. I twisted my hand, causing the blade to turn within the hole, like a key turning a lock and felt something click into place. It was faint, but I heard something shift from somewhere down below me as well.

I looked down at the floor to discover that something had definitely changed. In an alcove near the back of the church a section of the floor had risen up. It was one of four quarters of a circle, and lay right beneath the largest of the stained glass trees. Switching back to Eagle Vision and looking around at the rest of the church, I found that I could spot three similar symbols, all positioned near the top of the church like the first had been, and all marked by the same tree in some manner. It seemed that I would have to activate all four if I was to unlock the church’s secrets.

Now that I knew what was required of me it seemed like easy enough work to scale over the church’s ceiling and walls in order to unlock all four locations. I kept an eye out on the people below me as I did, afraid that someone would look up and spot me at any moment, and would no doubt demand that I cease my reckless behaviour, but no-one did look up or pay any notice to the panels that were slowly unlocking near the back of the church. I do not know whether they were simply too absorbed in their own doings or the preaching of their Father, or whether some other power was at work, but no-one paid any attention to me.

I soon had all four quarters of the circle raised and descended back down to the ground. I made my way to the back of the church, once more using the old trick of simply looking like I knew exactly where I was going.

I was not sure what unlocking all four quarters of the circle had accomplished, but assumed I would be able to examine the circle and find out easily enough. There was no need to however. As soon I stepped onto the circle the entire thing began to shudder and sink down into the floor, taking me with it.

In front of me lay a staircase that descended deep below the church. I glanced around to make sure no-one was watching me, took a deep breath and then began walking down the stairs.

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as I journeyed down below the earth. The darkness proved to be not nearly as complete as I had initially feared it might. The tunnel I journeyed along lit up as I passed through it, the walls and floor coming to life with a magical blue glow not unlike that which had emerged from the Precursor box.

I soon found myself inside an enormous cavern. It was the first time that I had seen a Precursor site, and it took my breath away. Black walls of cold, hard stone stretched all around and up above me. It was hard to believe that such an enormous and impressive space had existed right beneath Lisbon and yet no-one had found it until that day. I was the first, and I would be the last.

At the centre of the cavern stood an enormous monolith. I had no idea how I was supposed to reach it, because there was no path, and a large chasm of nothing existed between myself and it. I need not have worried however. As I stepped forward a path materialised in front of me, smooth black panels that glowed with that familiar blue light rising up out of the chasm to form a rather convenient bridge between myself and the monolith.

I was hesitant to step foot on the panels. Nothing was holding them up, and it felt as though they should disappear beneath me as soon as I put my weight on them. I took another deep breath and continued on however, and found the panels to be, at that moment at least, as strong and as sturdy as the earth itself.

A section of the monolith slid open at my approach, as though freely offering up that which lay within.

Liam and Achilles had told me very little about what an Apple of Eden might look like; small, spherical, a little larger than a person’s fist; the object in front of me sort of resembled that description. It was dark, and covered in spikes, each of them with a glowing tip. It had to be an Apple though, right? After all, this was clearly the Precursor site we had been looking for. What else could it be?

I reached out to touch the artefact, lifting it carefully in both hands. It began to glow as soon as I held it. I remember finding the glow fascinating, and wondering if perhaps the Apple, or whatever it was that I had recovered, was going to do something extraordinary.

I had only been holding it for a second or two when the glow grew, covering the entire surface of the object. The glow pulsed, and then even more suddenly, the object in my hands swiftly crumbled and turned into nothing more than dust.

I stared at it, wondering whether it was supposed to behave in such a strange manner. Nothing that Achilles or Liam or Hope had told me had prepared me for this. Had I done something wrong?

I wasn’t given long to contemplate it. The ground started shaking beneath me. The ceiling too, rocks falling down to smash against the stone path that I was standing on.

I began to run as the chamber collapsed behind me. At first I thought that it must just be the chamber collapsing, but I was wrong. Lord forgive me, I was so wrong.

When I exited the chamber I found that the church was shaking and collapsing as well. All around me people were screaming as the earth shuddered beneath them, large cracks opening up beneath their feet.

I continued to run, and all around me the earth shook and buildings crumbled. Fire, spilled from lanterns or candles, spread to consume whole houses. People screamed as their homes, their whole lives, disappeared right in front of them, as the ones that they loved lay trapped by falling bricks or timber, or, in many cases, crushed and killed by it.

The entire city of Lisbon was burning and falling to the ground, and I knew right away that it was all because of what I had done with the Precursor artefact. Because of our meddling, the Assassins had managed to destroy an entire city, and end countless innocent lives.

The minutes following that were a blur. I knew that I had to try and make it back to the harbour, to my ship and crew where I hoped I would be safe. I ran, barely away of where my feet were taking me. Around every corner there was another person screaming, another life abruptly cut short, another broken ruin.

I barely made it through. I remember falling several times, trying to run across the rooftops only for them to suddenly shift or collapse beneath me. At one stage a half dozen voices cried out only to be cut short as the building in which they stood collapsed on top of them with little warning. People cried out to the Lord to save them, but if he exists then I think that on that day he could not have been listening.

God forgive me, it was like a scene straight from hell.

I am sure that no matter how long I live, no matter how much I might redeem myself, I will never be able to forget that day; the fires, the screams, the ground shaking beneath me as I tried to run.

Eventually I found my way to a cliff overlooking the sea. I flung myself into the water and swam for my ship as fast as my arms could take me. A couple of my men helped me climb on board, and we all stood there for a while, staring at what had, only a few minutes earlier, been the city of Lisbon.

Black smoke and the glow of fire covered the entire city. It looked like a war zone, and was barely recognisable as the grand city that I had stepped foot in just that morning.

“How could God do this to them?” one of the crew asked.

“God had nothing to do with this,” I replied.

It was true after all. It was all my fault, and the fault of the Assassin mentor who had sent me in to steal that artefact so blindly. All of the destruction and death in Lisbon that day could clearly be blamed on the Assassins.

* * *

I wanted to stay and help those who had suffered in Lisbon, but, as certain members of the crew that Achille shad saddled me with were quick to remind me, my duties to the Assassins came first, and we would be of little use ourselves considering how low on supplies the ship now was.

Morale was understandably down. Some of the crew had been ashore when the earthquake had started, and several of them had failed to make it back to the ship in time to be saved.

Before heading for the colonies we sailed North and stopped in the fishing colony of Peniche. We were able to take on some desperately needed supplies, and also received more news regarding what had happened in Lisbon. No-one knew the exact toll then, but they were already sure that the dead numbered in the thousands.

Simply listening to the news made me sick to the stomach. The thought that I could have been involved in something so monstrous was nearly beyond my ability to comprehend. We stayed in Peniche for only a day or so, and then, with heavy hearts, we sailed for the colonies.

* * *

The trip from Portugal back to the colonies was a long one. From what little I remember the crossing itself was reasonably calm. We had anticipated rough seas and large waves thanks to the earthquake, but the sea itself was gentle. It did not suit my mood at all.

I could barely sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes I could see the broken ruins of Lisbon falling all around me. In my nightmares my mind taunted with images of death; of fire and the ground shaking and collapsing all around me, and the screams of all of those I had inadvertently condemned to death.

I was lost in those months. I longed for Liam, or for anyone who might be able to sooth my grief and rage, but there was no-one I could turn to. The crew tried to help where they could, but they were all just as shocked by the events they had witnessed as I was, and I could hardly tell them what had happened beneath the church.

I was tempted to find solace in drink and I might have once, as I had when my father had died, but I resisted. Instead, I found myself becoming furious, with the world, with myself, and with Achilles, for sending me on this fool’s errand.

So many had died, and it was all our fault; mine, and Achilles. After such a monstrous mistake, how could we possibly make things right? It didn’t seem as though there was any answer, and so I wallowed in my grief, and my rage and guilt both slowly grew.


	17. 3rd August 1757

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've made it to... well... this bit. Writing it made my heart break for Shay all over again.  
> As always, thank you to everyone who has made it this far.

**3 rd August 1757**

Please forgive me if my writing is less neat than usual. I find my hand still shakes as I sit down at my desk today. Recalling the disaster in Lisbon fills me with grief, and recalling what happened when I returned to the homestead fills me with both rage and heartache.

Gist knows that something has been bothering me. He has not hounded me about it, and for that I am grateful, but he did sit down and comfort me after yesterday’s journal entry.

“Whatever is the matter Shay?” he asked me when he walked into my cabin and found me sitting at my desk with my head in my hands.

“Gist,” I asked him. “Have you ever done something so terrible that you have difficulty comprehending that you yourself are capable of it?”

Gist’s eyes glanced down to this journal, where it rested, still open, on the desk on which I write, but he did not say anything, or even try to read the words contained within.

“Well, I can hardly claim that I am completely innocent,” Gist told me. “But I dare say that no man alive can. Or at least, no-one who has lived a life as interesting as ours have been.”

He paused for a moment before striding over to my side of the desk and slapping me heartily on the shoulder.

“But if you’re talking about true monstrosities; real evil, then no, I can say with some conviction that I have not,” Gist continued. “And I think, whatever it is that bothers your conscience Shay, it cannot be as bad as all that. You have proven yourself to be a good man, and a great friend.”

If only I could believe him.

* * *

It was the middle of May by the time I made it back to the homestead. The months that I spent on board the Assassin ship were some of the worst of my life, and consisted almost entirely of waiting for answers, for judgement, for comfort, for anything other than pain and sorrow. I had been responsible for the deaths of so many. I wasn’t sure that anything could ever make that sort of thing right, but I needed either Liam or Achilles to at least try; to give me some sort of answer.

We had only been sailing towards the colonies for several days when my mind made an important connection. Mackandal and his Assassins in Haiti had been searching for another Precursor site when a similar tragedy had hit there as well. Thousands of people had died in Lisbon, exactly as thousands had died in Haiti.

When I realised it my grief turned to disbelief, and then my disbelief to rage, and then I grieved once more. I could not believe it.

I had assumed that Achilles and all of the higher level Assassins knew what they were doing, and understood more about these mysterious Precursor artefacts than I did. They clearly didn’t. They had no bloody idea what sort of power they were dealing with, and were sending fools like myself in blindly, to destroy entire cities and end thousands of lives. And why? To protect these artefacts? What the hell sort of use was an artefact like that supposed to be anyway? We should have left it alone. No-one needed the sort of power that thing wielded; especially not the Assassins, who seemed to do nothing but kill those _they_ deemed wicked or inconvenient.

There was no-one to share such feelings with, and so they bottled up inside me, until I felt like I was going to be sick from all the grief and rage flowing through my veins. By the time I made it back to the homestead I was half mad with it.

No-one came down to the docks near the homestead to greet me. Instead I walked back to the manor on my own. As I did I could not help but notice that La Vérendrye’s ship, the Gerfaut, was patrolling the waters off the coast. The French Assassin was the last person that I wanted to see at that moment, but it looked as though I would have to deal with him on top of everything else.

When I reached the Davenport manor I threw my rucksack down on the porch angrily. I could hear voices coming from inside the house. I recognised Hope and Achilles and frowned. For a moment I considered walking away; perhaps abandoning the Assassins and their foolish cause altogether, but I wanted to give Achilles a piece of my mind, and I figured that at the very least I was owed a few answers.

I stormed upstairs and flung open the door, interrupted whatever conversation the Assassins had been in the middle of.

“So what’s the next city you want me to smite?” I challenged Achilles.

He did not reply. He didn’t even have the decency to look confused. He just stood there, staring at me as though I had somehow offended him.

“What happened in Haiti happened in Portugal!” I told him. “A great earthquake. Thousands dead thanks to your damned manuscript!”

I knew that I was shouting. I didn’t care. Thousands of people had died after all, and for no good reason. Someone should have been shouting.

I had expected that Liam and Hope would at least listen to what I had to say. I had thought that the Assassins would give me answers; would understand my rage and grief. Instead Hope pushed me away from Achilles, as though she was afraid that I might be about to hurt him, and placed herself between the two of us.

“This cannot be,” Achilles replied.

His shock I could at least understand.

“Shay, a person cannot start an earthquake,” Hope immediately argued.

“A person meddling with these Precursor machines could,” I replied, trying to explain to them. At least I had their attention now. “You saw the box, Hope. The temple was filled to bursting with that kind of power. You made me slaughter innocents!”

Achilles at least seemed ready to listen, but Hope, for whatever reason, was nothing but furious with me.

“How dare you!?” she screamed at me.

I did not know how to respond. I had thought that Hope was my friend, or if not, then we were at least allies of some description, and yet she was acting as though I was some sort of villain and had no right to be yelling at Achilles as I was.

“You defend him?” I asked. I could not believe that Achilles and Hope were arguing with me. I had trusted them and it had led to ruin. Why could they not believe what I was telling them then? “Achilles sent me in there like Mackandal sent his man in Haiti. He knew!”

Liam must have heard the three of us yelling. I hadn’t even heard him come into the room, but at that moment I became all too aware of his presence as he forcibly shoved me away from Hope.

“What the hell is going on?” Liam yelled. It was not so much a question as it was a reprimand. He looked furious, and that fury was directed only at me.

That, more than anything else that had happened since I had arrived back at the homestead, broke my heart. Liam immediately jumped to Achilles and Hope’s defence without even finding out what had happened or why I was so upset. I had assumed that my dear friend at least would listen to me and give me some much needed comfort.

Instead it appeared as though he too was not even willing to listen to what I had to say. Why could none of them understand?

“The operation was delicate,” Achilles began.

I could not believe it. He seemed to believe me, at least in part, but now he was trying to shift the blame to me, when he had not even made sure I had all the knowledge that I needed. He hadn’t been there. He had not seen it. He had no idea how bloody delicate the operation was or what the hell I had been through.

“Perhaps you...” he began, but I was not going to let him continue.

“You are shifting the earth itself,” I told Achilles.

Liam still stood between myself and his fellow Assassins, as though the greatest problem at that moment was keeping me separated from them, as though I was some sort of rabid dog, liable to strike out at them.

Why couldn’t they listen to what I was trying to tell them? Did they think I was some sort of fool? Well, I have no doubt now that I was, but not in the way they might have thought. I was a fool for ever listening to them; for thinking that Achilles had any idea of what he was doing. He was playing with power without ever really understanding the consequence.

“Who are you to decide which city falls next!?” I screamed, desperate to make them understand.

“Get him out of here,” Achilles commanded Liam and Hope.

They responded immediately, Liam grabbing me by the arms and forcibly dragging me out of the room. Hope slammed the door shut and locked it behind her.

I screamed and tried to fight against Liam, but he would not let me go. He did not let go until he had dragged me all the way out of the building and then dumped me in the cold snow outside.

“What the bloody hell was that Shay!?” he roared at me.

“Liam,” I pleaded with him, hoping that now that we were away from the other Assassins he might listen to me. “Thousands of people in Lisbon died because of what you and Achilles commanded me to do!”

“Shay,” Liam murmured, shaking his head at me as I picked myself up off the ground and dusted the snow off my clothing.

“You don’t understand. The same thing happened in Haiti,” I tried to explain. “These artefacts that the Assassins are chasing are dangerous!”

“Look Shay,” Liam said, shaking his head at me. “Why don’t you cool down for a moment? Just leave this all be.”

I was stunned to hear such words come of the mouth of a man that I considered my closest friend.

“Liam, please you have to listen to me,” I begged.

Liam walked away then, back inside the house, closing the door behind him and not even pausing to look back at me.

* * *

I made my way to a small grove situated a few minutes’ walk away from the Davenport manor. It had once been a favourite place for myself and Liam. We would make a campfire and curl up around it, swapping tales and chatting until the sun camp up. Sometimes Hope would join us.

Once you could tell just by looking at the blackened ground that it had been a favourite spot for campfires, but on that night, when I moved the snow aside I realised that I had been away for too long. Our spot had grown over completely with grass, and there was no longer any sign of ash or charcoal.

As the sun set I curled up by my campfire and waited for Liam to join me as he always used to, but he never showed, preferring instead to spend the night inside the warmth of the Davenport homestead with Hope and Achilles.

I was all alone.

* * *

I had hoped that once I returned to the Homestead I would find some sort of peace and comfort, that somehow Liam, if no-one else, would be able to make everything that had happened make sense. That maybe I would get some answers from Achilles.

Returning to the Assassins had only made me feel worse. None of them seemed to care that we had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. Not even Liam, who had always cared before then, who had always been one of the kindest, most caring souls I had ever known when it was just us on the streets of New York. Even he had told me to leave it be, as though I was just being childish and shouldn’t care that I now had the deaths of thousands of innocent souls resting on my conscience.

He was a fool if he thought I would leave it be. I knew then, that no matter how good his intentions might have been, Achilles could not be trusted. He could never be allowed to find another Precursor temple. I didn’t care that he was Mentor, or that his grief over his family’s death might be causing him to make some rash decisions. There was no excuse for his level of madness; no excuse for anything that lead to the deaths of thousands of innocent people.

I could not leave the journal in the hands of the Assassins, not if they all intended to continue blindly following Achilles in his madness and grief. If they were left to continue as they were then who knew how many more cities would fall before they saw reason? I would rather have died than see what had happened in Lisbon happen in another city, merely because I had failed to act when I could, so I resolved to steal the journal, and to destroy it if I must.

I knew that by doing this I might be alienating myself from the Assassins. Considering how Achilles had been acting of late, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was kicked out of the brotherhood forever, perhaps even punished or hunted down for this deed, but it would be worth it to stop them. For a moment I worried about my friendship with Liam, but then tossed that thought aside. He had made it clear that his bond with me meant nothing compared to his position within the Assassins.

That night I waited until I was sure that everyone would be asleep, and then snuck back up towards the Homestead. Hope and the others had trained me to be silent and invisible. Climbing up the side of the house and sneaking into Achilles’ study was easy.

I soon found the manuscript in one of Achilles’ drawers. I grabbed it and tucked it into my jacket. I wasn’t quite sure what I should do with it, but decided I could always run away from the Homestead now and decide whether or not to destroy it later.

I had barely turned around and readied myself to leave the room however when Achilles revealed himself, walking into the room with his old Assassin robes on and his hidden blade already drawn. He had anticipated I might try something like this, and had been lying in wait.

I silently cursed myself as a fool. I should have known that stealing the manuscript would not be so easy.

“I had such high hopes for you Shay,” Achilles said as he stepped closer to me.

“I had to do this,” I yelled at him, hoping that perhaps I might still be able to make him see sense. Surely he could see that what he was doing was wrong?

Instead Achilles just frowned at me and moved closer.

“And what is it you’re doing exactly?” Achilles asked me. “Stealing from your brothers? Betraying me?”

He looked furious.

“Someone must make amends,” I tried again.

“Make amends?” Achilles shouted. “You have no idea what you’re doing! The future of the whole continent, maybe the whole world, is tied up in that manuscript.”

“Perhaps, but we don’t have the right to decide that future.”

“The right? We have the responsibility!”

The responsibility? He was even more mad with power than I thought. I don’t understand why he couldn’t just listen to me. Why did he have to insist that what we were doing was anything but a monstrous mistake?

“We are responsible for killing innocents and destroying cities. This mad grab for power… it ends now.”

“I will not let you destroy everything we have built!”

Achilles charged towards me, the weight of him catching me off guard. He slammed me into the nearest window, the glass shattering behind me, shards of it catching in my clothing and falling to the ground beneath our feet.

Before I could defend myself he then threw me roughly down onto the ground. He approached me, each one of his footsteps as it struck the ground sounding like a death knell to my ears. One arm moved back, and I could tell that he was about to attack me. I jumped up, pushing his arm and his attempted attack aside, and ran for the now broken window.

I flung myself outside, taking more of the broken window and more shards of glass with me. The snow had been falling heavily outside, and I found my fall cushioned by a thick pile of it. I don’t know whether it was the snow or the fear running through my veins that meant I did not feel any pain at all when I stumbled to my feet.

The snow continued to fall heavily around me, piling up in drifts and settling in my clothing and hair. It might have been peaceful and rather beautiful if it wasn’t so damned cold, and if I was not now fighting for my life.

I did not want to harm Achilles, or any of the Assassins, but I knew that I had to escape with the manuscript if I could. As soon as I started to run I heard Achilles voice cry out from the window above me.

“Assassins!” Achilles screamed, his voice echoing through the still night air. “Stop him! Stop Shay!”

Achilles must have readied the Assassins for the possibility of my betrayal. They were all already dressed and armed, and wasted no time in trying to stop my escape. Someone must have gotten word to La Vérendrye as well, because before long his ship was firing mortars at the outskirts of the Homestead.

The bastard must have been waiting for a reason to kill me, because the mortars were violent and reckless. He didn’t seem to care that he might accidentally hit dozens of his fellow Assassins in his attempt to annihilate me. All that seemed to matter to him was making sure that I died. I could hear many of the Assassins screaming and cursing La Vérendrye for a fool as the mortars rained down all over the countryside.

I avoided conflict where I could. I knew that I had to stop the Assassins, but that did not change the fact that I had fought alongside many of them as their ally for so many years.

I was barely aware of where I was running. Soon the path in front of me narrowed. A shot rang out and a small avalanche of snow and boulders moved to block the path in front of me. I looked up to find Liam standing on an overhang above me, his pistol drawn.

I felt my heart lurch uncomfortably. Liam was trying to stop me as well. I think part of me had hoped that Liam would side with me after all, or at least that he would stay out of the conflict, but there he was, trying to stop me from escaping, just like everyone else.

There was no time to linger on such thoughts though. I hastily looked away from Liam, not wanting to see that face staring at me with disappointment, or worse, anger, and found a way around the avalanche.

I could hear Hope and Liam calling after me as I ran. Hope at least seemed willing to try and talk it out, but I did not want to listen to her words, not when she was acting just as hurt and betrayed as all the others, as though they were the ones that had been wronged, and not all the people that we had killed in Lisbon.

“How could you Shay?” she called out to me. “Won’t you listen to reason Shay?”

As though I was being the irrational one here. As though I was the one that was dangerous. And meanwhile, through the whole chase, La Vérendrye continued to rain death down on the land around the Homestead.

At some stage Kesegowaase joined in the chase. I heard him cry out behind me, and caught sight of members of one of his troops scouring the land for me. Between Achilles, Liam, Hope and Kesegowaase, I think I soon came to realise that I was outnumbered. They were going to catch me. It was all for nothing.

And then the path in front of me ended. I hadn’t really been paying all that much attention to where I had been running, and had inadvertently backed myself into a corner. I am sure that I have previously mentioned that the Homestead stands on a high cliff, overlooking the ocean.

The path in front of me disappeared, leaving nowhere to go except straight down into the freezing cold waters of Atlantic.

The others caught up with me soon enough. Even La Vérendrye had come ashore at some stage and was standing there with the rest of them. They all stared at me with such hate in their eyes, none of them wanting to listen to what I had to say or admit, for even one second, that perhaps they were in the wrong.

“That’s enough,” Liam snapped at me, as though I was some sort of misbehaving child that needed to be chastised.

He pointed his gun straight at me. The man that I had looked up to for so much of my life was actually threatening to kill me. I had thought we were friends. I had thought that he cared.

Clearly, he didn’t care enough.

“Give back the manuscript Shay,” Hope begged, still clearly trying to find some way for all of this to end peacefully. I however, knew that it couldn’t. Not now. “I’m sure Achilles…”

“I cannot!” I screamed. “I will not let this happen again. All those souls lost…”

I could still hear them; the screams of all the people lost in Lisbon because of our foolishness, because of Achilles’ reckless pride.

I glanced down at the ocean below, wondering if I was looking at my death. Liam was still pointing a gun at me. There was no way that I would survive a shot at such close range. There _was_ however, a small chance that I might survive the drop into the ocean below; just a small chance mind you, but at least if I leapt then I would be taking the manuscript with me. Perhaps the sea could do what I could not, and wash away any chance of the Assassins using the manuscript to destroy another city.

“One more hardly matters,” I muttered.

I had made up my mind. If I had to die to protect the rest of the world from Achilles and the other Assassins, then I would.

I turned my back on the Assassins and readied myself to jump. I had just made the first step into the abyss when a shot rang out and something slammed into my shoulder.

I heard someone calling out my name, and felt myself falling. I had a moment of perfect clarity then. Someone had shot me, and I was falling off the cliff, probably to my death. If the fall didn’t kill me then certainly the icy cold waters of the North Atlantic would. Or perhaps the shot would kill me first. I didn’t know how bad the wound was, just that my entire torso suddenly felt as though it was on fire.

Hitting the freezing cold water was like being shot a thousand times over. There was a few seconds of pain, and then blessed, blessed darkness as the water pulled me under and I lost all consciousness.


	18. 4th August 1757

**4 th August 1757**

My recollections of the weeks following my flight from the Davenport Homestead are confusing and disjointed at best. I remember feeling nothing but cold and pain, and then hands on me, carrying me or caring for me. When I think back I can recall, with very little clarity mind you, looking up through my delirium and seeing the shadowy figures of men standing over me, their voices raised as they argued. I cannot recall what it was that they argued about, although I can guess that it had something to do with me.

I was confined to bed for weeks, and they were some of the most unpleasant weeks of my life. Between my injuries and the fever that had gripped me thanks to the cold of the ocean, I was completely delirious, waking up from nightmares of Lisbon only to find my body still in enormous amounts of pain, sometimes worried that my life was still in danger but my body still too injured to do anything about it.

The couple that took me in were my saving grace. They were a middle aged pair named Cassidy and Barry Finnegan, and at times their wonderfully familiar Irish accents were the only thing that kept me calm and grounded. They showed me all the care in the world, despite the fact that they were complete strangers. I’m afraid that I kept forgetting their names in those weeks of recovery, along with where I was and what had happened. The Finnegans were so patient though, explaining things over and over again whenever I was lucid enough to ask about it, although Barry did take to teasing me about it.

Eventually the fever subsided, my sanity returned, and all that I had to worry about, in theory at least, was recovering physically. It was not as easy as that though. When my mind settled and my memories returned, I was forced to confront what had happened in Lisbon all over again, and I slowly came to terms with the fact that my life as I had known it was over.

The thought that Liam had shot me didn’t worry me as much as it probably should have. It was as though, with that one bullet, Liam had destroyed any ties that we had to one another. There was no point in hoping anymore; no point in thinking that maybe one day we might be able to go back to being friends if only we could sort out this mess.

As far as anyone in the Assassins knew, I was dead. Liam had killed me. I do remember wondering whether or not any of them mourned me, or whether I was, to them, still just a failure and a disappointment. I convinced myself it didn’t matter. Miraculously, I had survived. I had to content myself with that.

The Finnegans did their best to help me through it all. I tried not to cry in front of them, not wanting to burden them with my worries and my grief along with everything else, and when Barry Finnegan suggested more than once that I was probably nothing more than a clumsy deckhand who fell off his ship half-drunk, or something of the like, I went along with his suggestions. His explanations were as good as any other I might make up. I certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

After weeks of resting up and recovering I began to grow restless. The morning came when I was finally ready to get up and start walking about under my own steam. The room in which I had lain up seemed perfectly modest and comfortable; part of a wooden family home like many in the colonies. I am sure that the Finnegans must have told me as much many times over, but when I made my way over to one of the room’s tiny windows, I discovered that we were in the middle of New York. After years of living in the Homestead or on the ocean, it did not feel like coming home as much as it probably should have.

In those days I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with myself. I think at least some of the time I entertained the idea of going back to a normal life, at least once I had established that the manuscript was gone and the world was safe from the Assassins, but it wasn’t to be.

The Finnegans had already been up and checking on me the morning everything changed; Barry teasing me, and he and Cassidy gently arguing with one another like the old married couple that they were. They had just returned downstairs when I heard Cassidy let out a scream. I called out after the Finnegans but there was no reply.

Clearly something was wrong.

My body was still in a fair amount of pain, but I couldn’t just stand there when the excellent couple that had taken me in might be in trouble. As I made my way downstairs as quickly as my broken body would let me, I became aware of a couple of voices that definitely did not belong to the Finnegans.

When I arrived in the Finnegans’ sitting room I found Barry doing his best to help Cassidy up off the floor, while a couple of rough-looking strangers jeered at the two of them. The two intruders were both relatively young men, and were both wearing the same mix of yellow and brown cloths; clearly the uniform of some sort of street gang.

“Now what are you going on about?” I asked one of the strangers, ready to fight to defend the Finnegans, despite the bandages that still covered half of my body, and the fact that I was having to concentrate just to keep standing on both of my feet.

“Stay out of this you fool!” one of the thugs yelled at me.

As if I could do that. What sort of coward would stand back while two men roughed up a kind old couple like the Finnegans?

“Well I was going to,” I lied, “but now you’ve made things personal.”

I cracked my knuckles at the two thugs and advanced on them, raising my fists in front of my face as I did.

I found that now that I was up and about my strength returned to me quickly. The thugs were clearly not the excellent fighters that they would have believed themselves to be either. Even in my weakened state I thrashed them soundly, and soon the two of them were running out of the Finnegan’s house, muttering vitriol and meaningless threats beneath their breath as they did.

Barry Finnegan had been huddled in the corner, attending to his wife while I fought off the thugs (as he should have been – one’s wife must come first in such things) but as they ran off he jumped to his feet and yelled after them with fire in his voice.

“And don’t come back!” he screamed.

Barry Finnegan then turned his attention to me.

“Thank you Shay,” he told me. “In me younger days I could have taken them one-handed.”

I hoped that I had not injured the old man’s pride too badly, but unfortunately there were more important things that we needed to talk about.

“Why were these men bothering you?” I asked Barry Finnegan. They were clearly criminals of some description, but it seemed strange to me that criminals should be so brave and foolish as to enter a couples’ house while they were still at home. Surely there was an easier way to go about these things?

“Ah, the usual,” Barry spat out, clearly both used to the thugs disturbing his and Cassidy’s life, and highly frustrated by them. “They feel they’re owed money because they’re not harming citizens. Mark me words, those gangs are going to be the downfall of the city.”

It was the first that I had heard of such things. It seemed to me that the criminals in New York had grown far more brazen and troublesome in the time since I had last visited.

As I stood there, staring at the front door of the house, I began to think. Who knew what kindly old couple those thugs might terrorise next? It was an injustice that needed to be righted by someone, and it might as well be me. After all, I had no idea what it was that I was supposed to do with my life now that I was no longer a member of the Assassins. Chasing down those thugs seemed like as good a start to my new life as any other, and would, besides, be a good way to start repaying the kindly old couple who had taken me in.

My thoughts, or at least my desire to leave and chase after the thugs, must have shown clearly on my face, because the next thing I knew Cassidy Finnegan was leaving the room with a sly and secretive smile on her face.

“Wait here,” she told me. “I have something for you.”

I turned to face her husband, thinking that Barry might be able to explain what it was that she was up to, but he merely shrugged in response to my unvoiced query.

Neither of us were waiting long for an answer however. Cassidy Finnegan soon returned to the room with a small pile of clothing in her hands.

“It won’t do you any good walking around starkers,” she commented, which was fair enough. I was still wearing nothing but the old trousers I had worn in bed (and more than my fair share of bandages).

Cassidy Finnegan approached and held the pile of clothing out to me.

“Here, try these on,” she prompted. “They were our son’s.”

Barry Finnegan wandered over to a nearby table, seemingly prompted by his wife’s having fetched the clothing. He grabbed a bundle wrapped in plain white cloth and brought it to me, placing it on top of the small pile of clothing in my arms.

“I suppose, if you’re looking for trouble, you’ll be needing these,” Barry Finnegan said to me.

Most of the parcel was covered in cloth, but I could see the end of a very familiar looking sword sticking out of the cloth covering, and judging by the weight of the parcel and what I could see of its contents it contained the rest of my weapons as well.

“Thank you,” I told the Finnegans, more grateful than they could have possibly imagined.

I immediately headed back upstairs to get changed. The prospect of heading out after the thugs that had disturbed the Finnegans had energised me. The thought of having something to do with my life, something that seemed just and right was a marvellous one.

At first I laid everything out on the bed, taking stock of my belongings and admiring the clothing that the Finnegans had given me. They had not only returned my sword to me, but my gun and both of my hidden blades as well. There was no sign of the manuscript though, and I frowned as I considered what might have happened to it. I was sure that I had still had it on me when I had fallen off the cliff. I could only hope that it had fallen into the ocean, where it would be almost impossible for the Assassins to recover.

I then stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. While I had lain injured in bed my hair and beard had grown out so that I looked every bit the drunk deck-hand that Mister Finnegan had accused me of being. The hair I could do little about in that moment, save tying it back with a bit of red ribbon the Finnegans had left on the dressing table. The beard however…

I contemplated it for a few more moments, before I began the process of shaving it all off. During my time with the Assassins I had chosen to wear a short beard, trimmed close to my chin and kept in a relatively tidy manner.

No longer though; it was time for a change. I might as well give myself a new look to go with my new life. I shaved it all off, choosing to go completely bare-faced for the first time since reaching adolescence.

I then turned my attention to the clothing that the Finnegans had laid out for me. The undershirt and trousers went on easily enough, and fit so perfectly I might have thought they were made for me.

I paused when it came time to put on the large coat that they had left for me however. It was made of fine black leather with red trim, and was a more valuable and well-made garment than any clothing that I had owned before.

It was not the valuable nature of the garment that put me off though. It was the crosses that had been pressed into the leather of the coat, and which adorned the matching belt buckle. It was the same square cross that I had seen on almost every Templar I had come up against while with the Assassins.

I soon dismissed my concerns however. It seemed to me in that moment that my time with the Assassins had made me paranoid. After all, plenty of people chose to wear a cross in some fashion or another. It was purely coincidence that this coat bore the same cross that the Templars used. The Finnegans’ son had probably been a pious man, and if the nature of his parents was any indicator, undoubtedly a good one as well. It did not seem at all likely to me that he could have been a Templar.

I put on the jacket, as well as the beautiful boots the Finnegans had left for me, and then moved on to my weapons. My gun and sword found themselves placed back in their proper locations, but then I hesitated once more when it came time for the hidden blades.

The hidden blades had always been a symbol of the Assassins, a group to which I could no longer claim I belonged. I probably did not deserve to wear them anymore, and was, in any rate, not sure that I wanted to.

I was not sure that I would know how to fight effectively without them though, and so, Assassin or not, I picked up the hidden blades and the gauntlets that would fasten them to my wrists, and with a heavy heart, strapped them back into place as well. Perhaps the blasted things could actually do some good now.

* * *

When I went back downstairs I discovered that Barry and Cassidy Finnegan were waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. Their faces lit up as I descended, and Cassidy even clapped her hands together with glee.

“Oh, don’t you look a right gentleman!” she exclaimed as she grinned at me, her face turning red. It did not take an expert to realise she was very much appreciating my new look. I grinned back at her, knowing she was probably old enough to be my mother, but still rather flattered.

Barry Finnegan complained and gently nudged his unexpectedly flirtatious wife.

As delightful and entertaining as the exchange was there was something more important that I needed to bring up with the Finnegans; a matter that I was still gravely worried about. I had been resting up for quite a long time. Who knew what might have happened to the manuscript in the meantime?

“Did I have a book with me?” I asked the Finnegans.

They glanced at one another, and then back at me. Barry Finnegan seemed to think the matter over for a few moments before replying.

“Just those peculiar weapons,” he said.

I thanked them both from the bottom of my heart, and then made ready to leave the Finnegans’ house in pursuit of the ruffians that had disturbed them.  It seemed to me then that the manuscript must have fallen to the bottom of the ocean, where it would hopefully lay undiscovered for a very long time. I suppose it is still there now. Good riddance to it. It brought the modern world nothing but misery. I can only hope that it lies there still, away from the Assassins and the rest of the world, hidden deep beneath the waves where it can do no further harm.


End file.
